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nathanieldorsky · 3 years

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Interview with Jerome Hiler and Nathaniel Dorsky, May 2021, Leeds, U.K. to accompany an outdoor screening hosted by Will Rose

WR The screening of your work in Leeds will be outdoors in a field at Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. It will be dark of course, but the films will be set against the backdrop of the city and accompanied by the sound of the outdoor environment. I’m interested in how these local conditions might affect your work. What do you think about this, and have you ever screened your work outdoors?

ND When Jerome and I were in our early twenties we would leave New York City for a summer evening at my parents’ house where there was a backyard bordering a forest. We would have outdoor screenings using two projectors and enjoy the superimposed images and their many chance occurrences. San Francisco does not have windless warm evenings and the summer nights are particularly cold, so the inspiration to do this type of screening does not come naturally. But this summer, with the Covid crises restricting our social and screening lives, we had two screenings for six people each on the backyard patio of filmmaker Scott Stark. We were all dressed for a winter sleigh ride and masked with distance between seating. I showed three films I had made so far during the lockdown, one of which, Temple Sleep, you will see this evening. What was particularly lovely were the swaying tree shadows on the screen from the surrounding window lights going off and on. The film felt like it was floating within a larger cinema.

JH Of course, silent films are extremely vulnerable to ambiance, yet there are always margins, and some are larger or smaller so it’s impossible to predict what is too distracting or not. Every screening is a law unto itself. No two are alike – even when there’s an immediate repeat screening. When I send my films out to be rented, they’re like children old enough to be on their own. I wish them luck. That’s about all I can do. Back in 1964 I roomed with Gregory Markopoulos and we were always trying to find some spacious outdoor setting for a night time screening. It never came about, but I feel now that I saw the beginning of an idea that eventually led to his Temenos events in Greece.[1]

WR You have each largely kept your personal filmmaking practice separate from your ‘day jobs’ (Jerome as a carpenter and documentary director, Nathaniel as a film editor) – to what extent did/does your daily work influence or affect the films you make, and vice versa?

ND As an editor one has to be very strict sometimes with a client for their own good … you witness the naked self-deceptions … so when you are working on your own film you almost laugh when this dialogue takes place all within yourself … you see the importance of not deceiving yourself … you see the way you fib to yourself …

JH It has been some time since I worked as a carpenter. The work was all-engrossing and I hardly had a chance to have my films affect that particular work. However, the money I made certainly allowed me to make films. When I was young, I admired the filmmakers who had day jobs that supported their work. I also worked on documentary films and there it was a case of my personal films influencing my documentary style.

WR Your work is very much concerned with the act of filming in the moment – an idea which also seems to extend to the way you would like your films to be experienced. I’m curious about the role history and memory play into this presentness. When you film somewhere, is the history of that place important to you? And are your own memories of that place important to the way you respond to it in the moment with your camera?

ND For me it is the presences and dissonances of light that guide my camera into the world. Generally I am not trying to evoke a place, but in the film Temple Sleep I shifted in that direction; in this case seeing a series of fly casting practice pools as the flooded ruin of an ancient temple of the past.

JH I generally wander at random. Driving in my car – particularly in places that I don’t know, hoping to get lost. I will react to a location. I don’t set out to make a statement, rather I learn and am tutored by the film as it develops. My film has more to say to me in the long run than the reverse. All art works seem to be self-portraits.

WR I understand that you often show your work to friends in private salon screenings. Until relatively recently this was the only situation that Jerome’s work would be presented in. Can you tell me more about these private screenings? And when you make your work, is it is useful to have a particular viewer (someone you know) in mind? 

JH Now that I’m shown publicly, I’m often asked why I “withheld” my work. But, as far as I was concerned, I was sharing my work as much as I could. Living in San Francisco, I was ensconced in such a vibrant and busy film scene with many visiting filmmakers coming through and showing their work. There were many impromptu screenings at different people’s homes. For my part, I would create tailor-made “films” from my camera original to suit the person or people who were attending that night. Then, I would dismantle the reel and re-purpose material for another occasion. This process of using original film resulted in much loss over the years. But, as for making a finished film, I had not found a voice and my attempts, I feared, might be pretentious. Suddenly, I was asked to be in a film show and I quickly finished a film in progress. In this way, I had found my very casual voice.

WR You have been life-partners since the mid-1960s and make films principally for each other. Can you tell me more about how your work converges and diverges?

ND Jerome taught me half the things that I know. His earliest filmmaking awakened me to the open glories of self-symbol montage, that a film is something in itself! Jerome is a bit more the painter and I, a bit more the poet.

WR During the pandemic I have increasingly had the urge to be somewhere that I don’t recognise. I was fascinated to find out that your work is almost entirely filmed within a very small radius of your home in San Francisco. Why is this the case?

ND This is an exaggeration … although it is true that many of my films are shot in walking distance from my apartment. But I would often in normal times go downtown with my camera in a car, park and walk around in a variety of neighbourhoods and environments. I could no longer shoot street or human scenes as if the Covid was not happening. �� The real issue is that when you travel and shoot footage the footage is seldom as good as something you shot that you are very familiar with. When it’s familiar you have to work harder to make it touch something in the psyche … but a new place is all awe and seduction of the new but the footage one might take there is often not really so interesting as cinema. I have some travel films I’ve made on Kodachrome and have occasionally shown them in my apartment and once publicly at Anthology Film Archives. They looked gorgeous with the original camera Kodachrome going through the projector – now that is a heart stopper.

WR You both have a close affinity to poetry and have found ways to create an equivalent sensation using the medium of film. Nathaniel, I showed your work in Leeds a few years ago in the presence of a very wonderful local poet. Without any prior knowledge, he appreciated it instantly as the filmic equivalent of a poem. Is there some intrinsic essence you can identify which makes film poetic?

ND When film can create for the viewer feelings and intuitions, associations and discoveries, things that cannot be directly said, then it has poetic qualities. Not the false poetry of sentimental narrative, but the sharp present alert quality of light and the screen.  JH I think my films are more akin to music than poetry. Some musicians can tell me what tempos and dance forms my works employ. My subject matter is so truly personal that I doubt anyone else could follow a “narrative.” Though, I have heard a viewer’s re-telling of my film that was both true and sidesplittingly hilarious. You might wonder, “Do I have no regard for my viewer?” Actually, I hope that there is always something for the mind of the viewer to engage with along with the feeling that what you see and feel is, indeed, the heart of the film. The film is really yours. I remember, over so many years, tedious post-film discussions where a viewer stated their reaction and asked the filmmaker, “Was that intentional?” My answer would be: If that’s what you saw, yes, it was.

WR The way light, weather and vegetation are measures of seasonal change is important in almost all your work. How do the seasons play a role in structuring the way you make films?

ND Like poets for many thousands of years, the change of seasons stirs the soul, awakening primordial feelings of birth, death and desire and the need to “sing” of such things.

WR The pandemic has put a temporary stop to public screenings of work that necessitates film projection. This screening of your work in Leeds is a gentle re-connection with a type of art that has been in hibernation. What has been your response to the last year? Have you worried for the future of your art form?

ND I just kept on shooting and vaguely wondering what damage the Covid crises would have on handmade films in public arenas. Luckily my film lab was allowed to stay open as an essential business … I could not agree more … and Eastman stayed open for purchasing raw stock. I found it very difficult to make a film during this crises – though I ended up making six … many quite short as the world had become smaller. I spent weeks at various places in Golden Gate park, a half block from my apartment. After three weeks or so ideas for making films in those locations took place and manifested. It was hard photographing things with this ominous lurking presence, but I found a way by relating to the oppression and trying to make films that were a purification for the impending claustrophobia.

JH This is a very good question. The issue of impermanence has arisen most powerfully this past year. I find myself at an advanced age. I read complaints that my films are impossible to see outside of the larger venues in film capitals. My attention, as usual, has been on the making of films and not at all on their exhibition. I have never felt that video was akin to film. For me, it did not present itself as a substitute. I am considering, very seriously, transferring my films to a digital format. I do dislike the light of digital projectors, but I have to face the fact that loyalty to my first love is taking too large a toll on my work’s appearance on any screen at all.

[1]. Temenos is the name filmmaker Gregory Markopoulos gave to a remote outdoor screening site in the Peloponnese region of Greece. Markopoulos spent the last decade of his life working on Eniaios, an epic, 80-hour film cycle created exclusively for projection at this site. The next presentation screening will take place there in summer 2022. See: www.thetemenos.org

3 Films by Nathaniel Dorsky and Jerome Hiler | Outdoor Screening, Fri, 21 May 2021, Leeds, U.K. link

#Nathaniel Dorsky #Jerome Hiler #interview #william rose

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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TLTNL- THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

Harry flipped unenthusiastically to the start of his chapter. He couldn't say this was the worst start to his term, but things weren't going so well either. At least he had the ability to hope, considering his company. No matter how long he was in their presence, he knew that would never go away.

Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning.

"She didn't wait up for you after escorting the first years up there?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Obviously not," Sirius snorted.

Hoping for some support in his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

Ron interjected on the same breath Harry finished obviously Malfoy was just showing off for Parkinson.

"Why?" James rolled his eyes. Ron trying so hard to play this off was just a tad insulting.

"Don't know," Harry shrugged, that grumpy look lingering in place. "Suppose he didn't want Hermione to think he was encouraging me."

Hermione agreed both were likely, though it was a big lie to tell.

"She's not wrong on any of that," Sirius said fairly. Remus huffed so quietly only Sirius had heard, and he supposed both he and Prongs might still be a little sore about the last time Hermione hadn't believed Harry.

Harry wanted to press his point, but all around them were students whispering behind their hands and still pointing at him.

"Subtle," Lily drew the word out pointedly, her hand twitching for her wand while she fought back a shout for them all to mind their own business.

Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole how rude it was to point. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend,

"Why do people bother with that hand thing?" James snapped of no one. "It does no good!"

"They like to pretend they're being subtle, not everyone can pull off our magnificence Prongs," Sirius stated.

promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm.

Ron sniggered, saying he was going to love being a sixth year, whole periods used to just sit around and relax.

"If he chooses to never do any homework, then sure," Remus said with pity.

Hermione corrected they were going to need that extra time to study.

Ron insisted not today, it was going to be a real doss!

"Well it's the first day back-" Sirius began to agree, before the start to Harry's last year held his tongue from saying anything else.

Hermione suddenly threw her arm out, halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. She scolded Fanged Frisbees were banned and confiscated it. The boy scowled before complying and running back off.

Ron waited just long enough for him to vanish before snatching it next.

Sirius threw Remus a fond smile, who in turn shook his head indulgently. Lily rolled her eyes and Harry chuckled lightly, he didn't need to ask, the reminiscent air between all three of them for that exchange didn't need words.

Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron highly amusing.

"Wasn't she the one that giggled along at everything?" Lily asked, wondering why that had been mentioned at all.

"Except in Trelawney's class, then she believed every morbid word," Harry agreed without concern even if he did feel a flicker of annoyance far heavier than this should have called for.

She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

"Can't even blame him, that kind of attention's always valued," Sirius agreed.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

Hermione was distressed even as she defended he couldn't be surprised. It wasn't as if they'd ever showed any real enthusiasm.

Ron pointed out they'd shown more than most, and Hagrid wouldn't realize that was because they liked him, not the subject.

"I guess I can kind of see why he'd think that," Remus scrunched up his face in thought, "but outside of class you've never made it clear that's what it was. I'm sure Hagrid will be an adult about this and just understand you didn't need it."

Then Ron wondered if anyone would continue to NEWT.

"Now he's being ridiculous," Sirius couldn't help but scoff at that idea. "There's any number of reasons you'd continue that class, careers for one thing that involve the grade."

"Liking of the class as well," Remus insisted, knowing he'd have been one.

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures.

"Oh come now, not everyone could hate it," Remus insisted. "I've admitted some of Hagrid's ideas were," he faltered, not able to come up with the right word for testing out a new species on a bunch of fourth years, but gallantly continued, "but I'd certainly happily have continued with the class! He's got a unique way of teaching."

Harry gave Remus a sideways look, but was surprised to find he honestly seemed to mean that. Harry supposed then there could have been others outside of his class who may fancy it, just none that he'd known.

They avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

"That still won't be a fun conversation no matter what," Lily sighed, hoping Hagrid would understand, he'd always been good about that in the past.

After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado.

"Don't even know why she waited around," James smirked. "No teacher would question why she walked into class."

Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L results. Herbology was perfect, Professor Sprout would be glad to see him again with his O grade.

Lily beamed, remembering her worry from the train how Neville could only focus on his least good grades. She did wish Harry had heard him say this, or that he'd even said it.

He also qualified for DA with his E.

"Really? I thought Snape only allowed O's," Harry heavily rolled his eyes, despite his pride Neville had done so good in that exam.

"Maybe a stipulation from Dumbledore was he had to accept that grade as well, it's a class a large majority of people do need still," Sirius speculated, though his preference would have been if Snape had just never gotten the bloody job.

The problem was his desire for Transfiguration, an A just wasn't an acceptable enough grade to be carrying on, he wouldn't cope with the course work.

Neville hung his head in shame, and McGonagall asked why the desire?

"I'm surprised Augusta never made him retake the exam," James said bitingly.

"Probably enjoying the attention he got too much and realized too late," Remus snipped.

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about what his grandmother wanted.

Lily scowled and bite her tongue to convince herself not to snap about that again.

McGonagall snorted, stating it was high time his grandmother accepted the grandson she had, rather than what she wished, especially after what happened at the Ministry.

Sirius let out a deep bark of triumphant laughter that was echoed throughout the room. Augusta shouldn't have to be told that, but what they would give to make her hear it.

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

"Tis a genuine rarity," Remus agreed with a sad little smile, wishing Neville heard them far more often. Harry still didn't seem any more used to it either.

She still denied him access to Transfiguration, but suggested he continue with Charms, with his E.

Neville again mumbled his grandmother for answer, she found it a soft option.

"He still on about her?" James demanded shrewdly. "By this point Neville should be aware speaking her opinions isn't getting him anywhere."

"Seems it's all he knows, her opinions," Harry sighed quietly. He'd certainly been that way through his young life at the Dursleys before Hagrid.

McGonagall wouldn't hear of it, insisting he take Charms, and she'd be dropping Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.

Lily didn't bother to contain her triumphant laugh any more than Sirius had, all but beaming for this child finally hearing something like that.

Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

"I must confess just one slight disappointment to this," Sirius' lighthearted tone held nothing of the sort. "She gave him an extra class! To prove a point mind you, but the homework!"

"Worth it," Remus stated, knowing he'd have done exactly the same.

Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

McGonagall explained, with a shrewd voice showing her disapproval, that Trelawney and Firenze were splitting the students between them. Trelawney had the sixth years.

Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.

James scoffed heavily, good to know where her priorities were.

Harry went next and was approved for all subjects, including Potions to his surprise. McGonagall prompted this, his desire to be an Auror required it and Slughorn was perfectly happy to take him on with an E.

Then she finished he already had a list of twenty hopefuls looking to make the team, and was waiting for him to set a date for trials at his leisure.

James had been absently listening to the part of the conversation he'd been well aware of, but now beamed all over again at the news. He couldn't wait to hear how Harry handled those! It would be as good as any game he'd played! Probably better, since it should be hard for even his son's life to be at risk at something like tryouts.

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.

Ron was delightedly going over his schedule, finding a free period now, and after their break, and lunch!

"Savor the idea of them while they last," Sirius sighed in agreement.

They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

"It all happens so fast," James agreed with a wistful smile at his son, his own age, and Harry felt a guilty flash as he realized his dad wasn't all talking about Quidditch in that moment.

She congratulated him on the badge.

"What happens if all the old team had graduated?" Harry asked quickly in hopes of changing the subject.

"Never happened," James easily shrugged like his mind had never been anywhere else except the pitch. "Seems a tad ridiculous, a whole team made up of nothing but seventh years. Some years there wouldn't even be enough to form a team."

She was waiting eagerly for trials.

Harry told her she didn't need that, he'd already seen her play for five years.

"He's got her there," Sirius nodded easily, this having been exactly what Prongs had said when someone had made the snide comment about Sirius not having to try out at their team.

She warned it wasn't good to start like that, there had been many a bad teams because Captains just kept replaying old faces or letting all their friends in.

"Maybe she should have been made Captain," Harry muttered for himself, having no confidence in himself as he at once felt like giving his own best mate a guilty look.

"Don't be ridiculous Harry!" James was clearly scandalized at the comment. "You're going to have a blast with this, you'll see!"

His absolutely assured tone meant Harry couldn't possibly do anything but smile back.

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks's yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon. She already had a fifteen inch essay, two translations, and the books she was carrying all due Wednesday for her Runes.

"I feel like Hermione's being her usual self," Lily's brows crept up in worry. "There's just no way possible all that was assigned for two days from then."

Ron yawned.

Hermione resentfully snapped Snape would be giving them just as much.

"There's an argument they actually never had," Harry mock laughed.

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair.

Lily clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes, trying hard not to direct that at Harry. Was such a nasty description really needed three times in one book? She wasn't particularly fond of him of late either, but there were limits of what was needed.

Silence fell over the queue immediately.

Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already;

"Dark and heartless?" Sirius offered.

it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight.

"Don't be ridiculous Padfoot, you turn into a dog, not a parrot," James smirked over at him, while Sirius didn't at all look upset about mimicking the book.

New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts.

Remus made a snide comment under his breath, causing Sirius to snicker. James grumbled he was too far away to be in on the joke, while one look at their expressions had Lily thankful for the same.

Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures. He told them to put those books away, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk;

"Remember when he used to yell at us for not taking the initiative to copy down every bloody word he said," Harry groused.

Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair as he continued he was going to speak to them first and they were to give their fullest attention.

"When have you ever been denied that?" James asked innocently enough, though both Harry and Lily gave him a frown for that reminder they didn't need.

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.

All five of them made a face right back for this.

They'd had five teachers in this subject so far, he began,

"Why on Earth did he only recount the ones from my years," Harry rolled his eyes.

"Didn't want to say the number seven thousand I suppose," Sirius shrugged without concern. "Every year it had to get more grating to him," he finished with a satisfied smirk.

"How old do you think this curse is?" Remus asked more curious than anything for Sirius' exaggeration.

Sirius shrugged without concern, his point still stood.

naturally all those teachers methods and priorities had shifted with each. Given this, he was astounded so many had scraped by with any decent grade.

"All thanks to Harry," James primly boasted.

"Dad," Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, sure he really hadn't done more than help them all along than what they all thought. He was ignored, James' proud smile not dimming more than anyone else's.

He would be even more surprised if all of them managed to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which would be more advanced.

"I still find it a miracle anyone passed their Potions OWL's," Remus huffed, knowing that threat was going to be as literal as it could get.

James and Sirius were just surprised Snape hadn't made yet another snide comment about Moony, yet.

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view as he continued the Dark Arts were varied, ever-changing, and eternal. To cut of the neck of one would sprout the head of two more, fiercer and cleverer than the last.

"Just call it a hydra you blithering monotone!" Sirius sneered.

"Honestly, he does have to make everything sound oh so important," Remus huffed in agreement.

Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?

There was an ugly twist to the lips of the Marauders, Harry uneasily noticed, and his mum nibbling at her lip with a distant look in her eye. Harry wondered how many times they'd all seen this developing in Snape's youth, how this speech probably wasn't at all unfamiliar to those growing up with future Death Eaters.

He continued at normal volume their defenses for this then must be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo.

Lily couldn't help a small smile for that though, knowing she was the only one but grateful all the same he'd moved on to the importance of this class.

The pictures around them were to show instances of what they may be facing, waving at the Cruciatus Curse,

Harry shivered uneasily, not meeting anyone's eyes. Snape just had to put that one up there, to constantly remind him for the next year what he'd once lived through.

A Dementor's Kiss,

Sirius' skin went sallow. Even now that the threat had been taken from his future life, the reminder it had once had lingered so long over him would not pass soon.

and an Inferius.

Parvati Patil asked if it had been confirmed he was using those?

Snape returned the Dark Lord had used Inferi in the past, which meant it was well-advised to assume he was doing so again.

"He actually managed to answer her without an insult thrown in!" James brows flew up into his hairline. "Glory, he must be in a good mood!"

"I give it another five minutes to last, he'll throw some tripe at Harry soon," Sirius huffed.

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. He spoke of the fact that they were complete novices in nonverbal spells, and asked of them what the advantage of those were.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice,

"Mildly better than calling her a know-it-all again," Harry grumbled.

before curtly calling upon her.

She gave a text for word answer from the Standard Book of Spells grade 6; the adversary had no warning of what you were fixing to do.

Snape briefly mocked her for that, but agreed in essence it was correct.

Not a skill all could utilize, as some wizards lacked the concentration and mind power for it, his eyes resting on Harry at the end.

"Whew, I was starting to worry about another teacher being replaced," James mock wiped his brow in relief at the renewed insults to his son.

"Not yet sure if I wouldn't prefer Fake-Eye," Remus grumbled, mostly kidding, but at least he'd still been more helpful to Harry's survival before trying to kill him.

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.

He instructed them to divide into pairs and practice this.

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word,

Sirius let out a surprised whistle, they all looked rather impressed with this except Harry, who thought by now that would have worn off on them.

a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry bitterly, but which Snape ignored.

"I'm sure she'll get it from every other teacher in the following classes," James assured with a chuckle.

He swept between them as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.

Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"You could still be practicing while waiting," Remus offered helpfully. "Even helps yourself to hold onto the spell, build up resilience."

Harry gave him a light smile, once again wishing for the dozenth time Professor Lupin had never left.

When Snape saw this he called Weasley pathetic, and offered to show how to properly do it.

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled Protego!

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk.

All three boys burst out laughing with surprise for that, while Lily's teeth sank into her lip again, knowing that wasn't going to go over well.

The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling. He demanded of Potter if he recalled the use of nonverbal spells being used.

Harry said yes.

Snape corrected yes sir.

Harry told there was no need to call him sir, Professor.

James snorted so violently he was sure his own nose had been broken, Sirius dissolved into mirthless laughter at once and would not be upright without the support of the sofa, and Remus gave Harry an appreciative nod, "you tell 'em Harry."

To Harry's greatest surprise though, his mother laughed hardest of all, holding her sides for several moments before beaming with pride at her sharp tongued boy. She couldn't have done better herself in giving such a reply to a teacher who deserved it.

It took Harry a moment to even remember he was supposed to keep going. He rarely felt he deserved their praise, but in this instance of his sassing a teacher, he actually just wanted to linger as long as he could on that smirk in place.

Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

Snape issued a detention at once on Saturday.

"Smarmy bloke," Remus sighed, fighting back the impulse to do the opposite and award Harry house points he deserved as much as Hermione.

"Never could take a joke," Sirius agreed, still in between mirthless laughter. He'd never enjoyed Harry's snark as much as he was in this moment.

Lily brushed her hair out of her face, her laughter finally subsiding enough to frown at them. Snape had laughed at plenty of her jokes, and it saddened her to once again realize just how much he'd changed, where once he would have been laughing as hard as them if she'd done such a thing.

Ron congratulated him as they stepped out of the class, while Hermione scolded that had been a terrible idea!

Harry defended he'd been fixing to be jinxed! He was sick of Snape using him as a guinea pig! What had Dumbledore been thinking, putting him in this class? Did they hear all that stuff he was going on about the Dark Arts, he was in love with them!

Hermione interrupted to say she'd thought he sounded like Harry had last year.

The outrage bursting out of Harry was clear enough even before he'd finished, he didn't need to hear the others shock to continue in hopes she had a very good explanation for this that still wouldn't justify comparing him to that bat!

When he'd first given his speech to the DA, he'd said it was about more than memorizing spells. It took action and cunning, that's exactly what Snape had been saying.

"Many people have said the same thing in a new way," Remus contradicted, though it was in a more kindly tone than either of his friends could have managed, sounding more like he wanted to gently debate the subject with Hermione. "That does not necessarily mean those two are of the same mind, a very simple thought could be taken over a dozen different ways."

"So, don't insult Harry again," Sirius concluded.

Lily huffed and glared at all four of them, was it really such a terrible thing? There had been a time where she would have beamed if her boy turned into anything like her old friend. Not so much now, she'd admit, but it didn't have to be a blanket insult.

Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

Lily giggled in surprise as Harry's faint blush appeared in here as well.

Then Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment. He handed it off before asking when Quidditch trials were?

Harry said he wasn't sure yet, thinking to himself Sloper would be lucky to make the team again.

"Wasn't he the one that knocked himself out with is own bat?" Sirius said in remembered disgust.

"How he even got on in the first place is still a mystery," James sighed.

Sloper began hoping it was going to be this weekend-

but Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence,

"Can't even blame you, I wouldn't care what he wanted the schedule to be either," James muttered, only marginally more invested in whatever this was Dumbledore was up to.

he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8.

P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.

"Oh yes, got to watch McGonagall put a shrew in place, and then I in turn did the same," Sirius agreed enthusiastically.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

Harry laughed Snape wasn't going to be pleased his detention was being put off.

"As if he won't demand it be rearranged," James rolled his eyes.

He, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic.

"Because that's so much better," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Remus stayed quite, not really thinking it was any of that, but baffled what it could be nonetheless.

After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room where they grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period,

"What was the essay over?" Remus asked with far to much curiosity as far as Sirius and James were concerned. They could never sound so caring about something labeled as homework.

"The Theory of Nonverbal Spells and Their Impractical Uses," Harry huffed, his brain still getting a little sore at trying to read through texts about that.

Sirius couldn't help it, Snape's essay or not, the topic did light his intrigue and he opened his mouth to offer up something, but Harry hadn't noticed and kept going.

(though she considerably sped up the process). They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

He greeted Harry by offering his hand, again congratulating him for his show in DA, and then greeted Ron and Hermione.

Before they could say more than fine, the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door.

James couldn't help but snort at all the flashbacks that caused, they'd said many a same thing about him.

As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

Remus clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes, some things never changed, while Lily giggled just a bit at thinking the exact same.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow.

"Amortentia," Lily said at once, though only Harry had looked to her for an answer.

James in particular had an unnaturally grumpy look on his face, still remembering the sting of his son thinking he'd used a love potion on his wife, or some other way for them to be together. He wasn't fond of them at the moment at any rate.

He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

Slughorn asked that they all have their scales and kits out, and turn their copies of Advanced Potion-Making to page-

Harry politely cut in to say he didn't have any things for this class, nor did Ron, explaining they'd thought they couldn't take the class.

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

Harry couldn't properly explain it, but he felt a sharp tingling tracing up his spine for this. It was ridiculous of course, he'd just been given some old things, nothing was going to come of that.

Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off,

"You learn to duck fast in that class," Sirius smirked, and Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was kidding or speaking from experience.

and began he'd prepared some potions they'd all come to recognize by the end of this class, and they ought to have at least heard of them by now. He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

"Veritaserum," Lily sighed, not appreciating the reminder of what Snape had once threatened to use on Harry, and in turn used to interrogate someone still that same year.

Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her. She quoted the properties of Veritaserum verbatim.

Slughorn happily congratulated her before pointing to the next at the Ravenclaws table, giving them a hint this one had been mentioned by the Ministry's pamphlets of late.

Hermione's hand was fastest once more, stating it as Polyjuice Potion.

Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron,

"Can't hardly forget that one," Harry's nose again crinkled in remembered disgust.

but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

Lily sighed in exasperation, that one still blew her mind.

Slughorn had barely gestured to the one at their table before, now looking slightly bemused, called Hermione's hand punching the air again. She identified this one as Amortentia, the strongest Love Potion in the world. The details of which were that it gave off an aroma unique to each person. She smelled freshly mown grass, new parchment, and-

But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

"Wonder why," Sirius said with honest interest, it's not as if it was really that revealing.

Slughorn asked for her name, and once given, speculated if she was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?

"Would make his day to find another pureblood he could kiss up to," James sniffed.

"Instead he gets to meet another Lily," Sirius rolled his eyes while she flushed and glared at the pair.

She corrected she doubted this, as she was Muggle-born.

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

He quoted Harry from the summer saying one of his best friends was the best in his year and Muggle-born, this must be that very friend.

Harry agreed, and Slughorn awarded her twenty house points for correctly identifying them all.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face.

'Ah, good memories,' all of the boys were smirking again at once, thinking something similar.

Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered if he'd really said that?

Ron grumbled what was the big deal, for some reason looking annoyed.

"That, Harry gave the compliment and not him?" Remus asked in confusion. Harry shrugged, he had no clue of that reaction either.

He'd have said the same thing if anyone had asked him.

Slughorn continued on Amortentia, calling it the most powerful potion in this room, emphasizing this at the sceptical looks on some faces like Malfoy. When they'd lived as long as he had, they'd know how powerful and obsessive something like love could be.

"Sounds like he's speaking from experience," Harry said in surprise. He didn't often think about a teachers home life, but did suddenly wonder if Slughorn had been leaving more than old students in his trail of houses.

"I can't say for sure," Lily said with a bit of dignity, she didn't like to pry into her teachers lives.

Slughorn then tried to call attention to today's work, but Ernie cut in to ask about the potion still on his desk, which was full of bright gold potion that was all but leaping out of its very surface.

Harry shifted with that feeling all over again, he really didn't like he had one for all four of those potions, though all for varying reasons. He glanced hopefully at his mum, seeing at once she recognized it, and wasn't disappointed. "Felix Felicis. Highly dangerous if brewed just a tiny bit incorrectly, poisonous if taken regularly, but Merlin does it have some effect on the world."

The faint blush she ended with had all of the boys turning to look at her in the end though, James asked slowly, "Lily, did you happen to ever use some?"

She feigned as if she hadn't heard, giggling in a girlish way Harry hadn't really seen quite yet. However, she refused to elaborate, and waved her son on. He only grudgingly did so when a solid ten minutes of her husbands pestering proved futile.

Harry at once knew Slughorn had forgotten no such thing, but had saved it for dramatic affect. Slughorn wasn't at all surprised when Hermione told it was Felix Felicis, and that it made the drinker lucky.

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Is that all it took," James grumbled, huffier than usual with one eye still on his wife, who still kept breaking out into snickers.

He mentioned all the good of the potion, but once Terry asked why people didn't just drink it all the time, Slughorn explained all it's dangers as well.*

He'd had it twice, both perfect days. He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.

"Nah, I'm confident that one's real," Sirius rolled his eyes.

He concluded it would be a prize for today's lesson. There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold. He pulled a tiny vile out of his pocket of the very same potion, enough for twelve hours.

"Hope Hermione uses it for something good," James grumbled, still giving his wife a pouting look she wouldn't acknowledge.

He first warned it was banned from sporting events, examinations, or elections, so be sure to only use it on an ordinary day, and watch it become extraordinary!

Then he told them to flip to their book on the Draught of Living Death.

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible.

"A phrase you'll never hear Snape accomplish," Remus smirked.

Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

"Least we know he can't bribe his way into it," James finally stopped eyeing the red head to sneer at the book.

"His will probably be the worst attempt, he never had to try in that class," Sirius agreed.

Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.

To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing;

Lily tisked, she'd found by the end of the first year what an advantage and disadvantage that could be. It truly was sad Harry was still picking up on such things years too late.

this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction:

Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

"Oh," Lily blinked at that.

"What?" James asked curiously, hoping she'd at least answer one question today.

"That'll work extremely well, seems this book gives very good advice, instead of just nonsense like Harry was thinking," Lily said, but there was a curious look on her face. There weren't many people who knew that trick.

Harry glanced up when Malfoy called for the Professor's attention, pointing out Slughorn had known his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy.

Slughorn indifferently agreed, though he had been saddened at his death, but dragon pox at that age...

Then he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.

The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Harry turned to Hermione, asking to borrow her knife.

She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.

Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all.

Harry's surprised little smile about made Lily's day. It was high time he finally saw the good this class could offer.

Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.

His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir.

Lily's brows disappeared right into her hairline now. How many students would have spent the time to figure that out, and wrote them down in an old potions textbook?

Could the old owner be right twice?

Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned pale pink.

Hermione demanded how he'd done that, red faced with frustration her own was still purple.

He began to explain the trick of a clockwise stir, but she snappily said the book said counterclockwise!

"Why'd she snap if she didn't want to hear the answer?" Sirius laughed hard at Hermione's temper showing like that.

"What do you lot make of this?" Harry demanded, the eagerness in his voice far more than the Marauders understood.

"Some barmy kid was actually good at potions and took notes," Remus shrugged without concern.

"Probably blew a potion or two in their face trying," Sirius added with a smirk.

"Likely dumped the thing when they realized no one cared," James finished with an eye roll.

Lily pressed her lips together to stop herself laughing again. She still wasn't quite convinced yet, but those boys had just described a large amount of time in her youth, with her best friend, except that last part.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing.

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.

Lily couldn't help it now, her buoyant mood wouldn't keep the laugh contained, but the boys gave it no thought. Of course she'd be happy Harry was finally enjoying her favorite class.

Slughorn finally called for times up. He moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod.

"I don't get it," Harry said, glancing from the book in his lap to his mum. "Why would mine be better than Hermione's, if she's following all the instructions?"

"Hermione's about to learn a hard lesson about Potioneering," Lily happily explained. "Of course if you follow the instructions you'll get your desired Potion, Hermione's drought would have caused the same endless sleep as yours. However, because the previous owner spent the time to ruminate, perfect, tweak the potion even, your affects will be longer lasting, and much stronger. Potions are the only magic meant to be tampered with, carefully of course," she finished with a rueful hand down her bright hair.

Harry wondered how many times she'd singed it off by tweaking a potion. She certainly seemed very keen on the idea, and while Harry knew she'd liked the subject before, he'd never seen her so serious on it as she was now.

Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face. Announcing his as the clear winner! He'd certainly inherited his mother's talents!

Lily laughed harder than she meant to, really getting the boys attention now, but still she shook her head, not willing to admit yet what was on her mind. She really wasn't even sure what their reaction would be, and for now they just looked bemused, so she'd take that as long as she could.

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

Ron asked what he'd done, and Harry said he'd gotten lucky while Malfoy was still in ear shot.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered. He huffed if she really thought he'd cheated?

"It's not cheating," James rolled his eyes at once. Of course Hermione would be ticked her way hadn't worked.

"So Harry got a better instruction manual, according to Lily, that means someone out there could still do the Potion even better the next time," Sirius agreed.

She stiffly responded it hadn't exactly been his own work.

Ron just waved off he got different instructions. Slughorn could have just as easily given that book to him, but he'd only gotten one that someone puked on page fifty-two.

"Why was he looking that far ahead?" Remus chuckled in surprise, but answered his own question in his head. At the point Ron realized he wasn't winning, he supposed he would have started flipping through pages out of boredom.

A voice close by Harry's left ear cut in, and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn's dungeon. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them.

Sirius burst out laughing in surprise at that. "I suppose Ginny spends a lot of time out in the gardens?"

Harry didn't really answer, just a muttered agreement, his mind felt suddenly loose from his body at her sudden appearance and he tried to shake that off, unsuccessfully.

Her voice was sharp, concerned, as she demanded if he'd really been taking instructions from a book.

"Oh," James murmured, all the humor vanishing almost at once from the room. That wasn't something nearly as fond to be remembered, the poor girl probably still had nightmares about that.

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once. He promised it was nothing like Riddle's diary, just some notes someone had scribbled down.

Hermione was excited Ginny could have a point.

"Yes, if the book's evil, that makes it okay it outsmarted you," Remus rolled his eyes.

She snatched it away from him and did a Specialis Revelio spell, but nothing happened.

Harry snatched it back, asking if she wanted to see it do backflips.

"Can it?" Sirius asked with only mild sarcasm. "That would have made reading them some actual fun sometimes."

"Bit more a challenge, couldn't hurt," James agreed.

As he tried to put it away into his bag, it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry's eyes flipped wide in surprise, a harsh thump like before pressing in on him leaving no doubt he should know that name, recognize it to see it meant something.

He was distracted at once though by his mother throwing her head back laughing.

HPHPHPHP

I know, I know, you all hate me for again cutting off the good reaction. Promise everything you're wanting to ask will come up in the next chapter!

*This potion is one of the more common complaints I've seen of the HP world, and I think people forget this line in particular. It's not common, would take Hermione ages to make, and would be extremely dangerous to use consecutively to get a job done. I like that magic clearly has limits and downsides in this world, it makes it more real to me, instead of everything just having an easy solution if you take one bit of the answer and ignore the rest.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #The Life That Never Lived #HP #HBP #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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legumelupin · 3 years

Text

FINE

So with the el*ct*on happening today and the impending doom I feel, I’ve been listening to fine by Mike Shinoda (highly recommend the song and the artist, he’s my fave) on repeat and most of the words are the same verse to verse and chorus to chorus so I wrote this quick little fic to deter my attention and channel my energy into something that wasn’t news media. It’s kind of angsty but it’s a bit hopeful at the end. and everything will be fine for Harry Sirius and Remus. At least in my book it will be canon can suck it.

There’s some mentions of dying but nothing explicit, everyone lives bc no one dies in my book. There’s also some questioning of reality so you have been warned!

Not edited or proofread!!! Please enjoy!!

Tell all the children to lock those doors

I've seen the smoke in the sky before

Gotta be up on my feet when the morning comes

‘Cause this fight we can't ignore

“No, they’re too young to be inducted into the Order, they’re not of age!” Molly Weasley shrieked. “They’re children, this doesn’t concern them!”

“I very much have to disagree with you there, Molly,” Sirius bit out harshly and the woman had the grace to look affronted. Anyone who said that the warning signs of war weren’t there was stupid beyond comprehension. But anyone who said that it didn’t concern the kids was even stupider, especially when it came to Harry Potter.

“Well, they still don’t have to be present for meetings! They have school to worry about!” she retorted and Sirius rolled his eyes, his expression grim and annoyed.

“I remember being in school and worrying that my best friends would be murdered over the summer. I remember being in school and hearing the cries of war and reading about the tragedies in the Prophet so pardon me if I think it’s a load of bollocks to think they aren’t thinking about what’s happening out there. Especially not the kids living here right now,” Sirius shot back, just barely holding in his snarl.

The kitchen fell silent at that. The meeting for the Order had ended some time before leaving Sirius, Remus, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and Tonks for the night. It was a tense meeting to begin with seeing as Snape had shown up for his biweekly report. It was always tense when he came, knowing he was working for the other side and the unending feud between him and Sirius was enough to keep everyone on edge.

“Well, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” Tonks’s voice sliced through silence and Sirius’s expression turned from glaring to slightly less glaring. “Gotta be up early for work and then I have some Order work in the evening so I want to be well-rested, you know?” she continued, sensing the easing tension.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” Sirius grumbled, abruptly standing and pushing past Remus and Molly on his way out. Remus only watched him go, sighing as he heard the pounding of steps and the beginnings of Walburga Black’s screams before her son silenced them with ease.

I feel a chill building up inside

Seeing the sweat filling up my eyes

Tell every friend, enemy in flesh and blood

To send out the battle cry

Sirius woke up the next morning colder than usual which was saying something considering it still felt like he’d never be warm again after escaping Azkaban. He groaned and reached his arm out, expecting to feel the warmth of Remus Lupin but finding the bed to be as cold and empty as he felt.

Panic coursed through him. Where the fuck was Remus? Sirius didn’t remember him coming to bed the night before but he thought that perhaps he was just cleaning up Sirius’s mess (What else is new? he thought bitterly.) and had come up after he’d fallen asleep. But he wasn’t there. And Sirius was cold, no, he was freezing. His throat felt tight and his bed felt too hard. He couldn’t hear Buckbeak’s squawks or chirps and Remus wasn’t there.

He tore off the blanket that was doing nothing and sprinted from the room, as far away as he could and down the stairs. He was expecting his mother to come out of the woodwork and smack him across the head for running in the house. He thought Regulus would be just around the corner waiting to spit at his feet and call him a blood traitor. He thought his father would be standing at the bottom of the steps, wand in hand and ready to cast the Cruciatius.

But none of them came and Sirius was still running through the house and down the stairs. He no longer felt cold because he was sweating and he couldn’t catch his breath.

He was running from Death Eaters and from Inferi. He was running for his life and he didn’t have his wand to defend himself. All he could think was Remus, James, Lily, Harry over and over again. He could’ve sworn he heard someone screaming his name and he knew he’d been found so it was only a matter of time before he was cornered and captured or killed. He had to run.

“SIRIUS!”

Remus’s voice broke through the haze and he skidded to a stop, the cold of the marble seeping back into his marbled feet. He was hot and cold all at the same time and he felt like he was in fifty different places at once all because Remus wasn’t there. But now he’s here and he’s holding onto Sirius and squeezing him tight and putting pressure on his over-sensitized body.

“We have to-! We have- We have to go Moony! James and Lily!” he shouted, starting to struggle against Remus.

“Sirius, stop moving! It’s 1995 and James and Lily are dead! We have to be worried about Harry! Sirius, Padfoot, my love, calm down please!” Remus’s voice pleaded, and what he was saying made perfect sense. He remembers breaking out of Azkaban and he remembers living in Grimmauld Place after giving it to Dumbledore to use for headquarters. Sirius stopped squirming and the pressure of Remus’s hold on him started to unravel the tension and the nerves he’d woken up with.

Twenty minutes later and Remus had yet to let go but Sirius had turned and folded his arm around his Moony and gripped tightly as he sobbed. Remus didn’t have the heart to tell him it hadn’t even crossed midnight yet and he’d only just gone to bed a mere two hours ago. But Sirius was sobbing and mumbling about Harry and how they had to be ready and he how he felt useless and insane. Remus held him tighter.

Fingers stretching out from nowhere

Reaching for my throat

They're hungry for my skin

Teeth wide smiling that they found me

Circling around me

Slowly closing in while you sing

Harry woke up frantically. He was gasping for breath because it felt like someone was squeezing his throat and there was cotton in his mouth. His skin was burning and he felt like there was someone in his room that wasn’t Ron. He knows he’s awake. He knows that’s not possible but he remembered the eerie portrait that stood tall in the room and he remembered hearing it snicker. Irrationally, he thought, Voldemort and his followers had found him finally.

If he moved, they would see him. If he stayed still, he had no way of defending himself or getting away. And there was Ron still. He closed his eyes shut tight and tried to think through the situation rationally, the voice in the back of his head begging him to understand that no one besides Ron and him were in the room. No one else.

He heard the high-pitched laughter that made his skin crawl and those grotesque white hands holding the yew wand, reaching out to touch him. He felt the touch everywhere, on his scar, on his throat, and the gash on his hand. Everything was burning. The jeers of the Death Eaters filled his ears and he sees their masks as they stood around him in a circle in the graveyard. They were all around him, waiting for him to move, waiting for their Master to do something to kill him.

Harry bolted from his bed.

The jeers sounded like they were following him and the laughter was too close to him for it to be comfortable. He left his wand by his bed and out of sight because he didn’t even want to look at it anymore with the looming hearing. But it wouldn’t matter anymore if he was dead.

The jeers turned into shrieks that echoed throughout the house but he didn’t care as long as they were following him and everyone else was safe. He just wanted to be safe too.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” the rational part of his brain chanted and Harry didn’t even realize till that moment that he was crying. He slowed down a bit and threw caution to the wind to glance over his shoulder and see who was following him.

No one was there.

His hearing stopped ringing and became sharper and he realized that the shrieks were actually Sirius’s mother and everything he thought he was feeling and seeing was not real. It was all because of that dream but it was the same dream he had almost every night in some variation. He never freaked out like that before.

“Harry?”

He looked towards the voice who called his name, his nerves flaring and he prepared himself to run again because he just couldn’t be sure at this point anymore. But it was just Professor Lupin.

“I’m sorry!” he gasped and the werewolf gave him a concerned looked as he wordless flicked his wand towards the portrait and the shrieks were silenced.

“Sorry about what?” Lupin asked kindly and Harry gulped. He was drenched in sweat.

“Waking you,” he said before his brain even processed it. He was sorry for that sure, but he was also sorry about the portrait and about letting his old professor see him like this.

Lupin waved him off.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said before turning on his heel and gesturing for Harry to follow him. “Come with him,” he instructed and Harry obliged, wishing desperately to leave the laughter and white hands behind him.

Everything is gonna be fine, fine

Everything is gonna be fine, fine, fine

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine

Everything will be just fine

Sirius was not eager to let Remus out of his sight but the pounding of feet and the reckless encouragement of his mother’s rage had him concerned as well. The cup of tea steaming in his hands kept him from feeling too cold and his bare feet resting on the old carpet kept from becoming too cold. Remus returned after only a minute or two.

Harry was behind him.

Remus steered the boy to sit next to his godfather and Sirius suddenly started to feel uncomfortable. He was supposed to be stronger than this and not let Harry know that he was weak and broken. It wasn’t supposed to be this way but yet Harry felt no qualms about it apparently as he insistently shifted closer to the Animagus. They weren’t exactly touching and Sirius could feel the kid’s apprehension about touching him so Sirius initiated it, hoping he wasn’t overstepping.

He shifted his cup to one hand and threw an arm across Harry’s shoulders while pulling him closer to his side. He felt the tension start to ease out the boy’s body. Sirius felt a bit more relaxed as well.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he murmured, pressing his face gently into the chaos that was Harry’s hair and tried not to think of James and what he’s lost.

Harry shuddered slightly but reveled in the comforting touch of his godfather and focused on the feeling. He left behind the remnants of his dream and leaned further into Sirius’s side, repeating quietly, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Remus sat on the other side of Sirius placed a firm hand on his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his lover’s cheek softly.

“Everything will be just fine,” he echoed.

Neither of them felt any sort of sleepiness but everything was fine then and everything was going to be fine.

Fine.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #angst #order of the phoenix #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #tw reality questioning

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

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Video Game Review: Assassin’s Creed 3 (Ubisoft, 2012; Remastered 2019)

Genres: action-adventure, third person, open world

Premise: Desmond Miles and his team use the Apple of Eden to locate the Grand Temple of the First Civilization. To open it, Desmond must locate a key, known to his ancestors Haytham Kenway and Ratonhnhaké:ton (also called Connor) who were active during the American Revolution.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals. I will be evaluating the remastered version of this game on its own terms, so I cannot speak to how it is different from the initial release.

Content Warnings: violence, blood, colonialism, racism, domestic violence

Story: Assassin’s Creed 3 initially follows Haytham Kenway, a new PC character and ancestor of Desmond Miles, as he journeys from Britain to America during the 18th century. Haytham is attempting to find the Grand Temple, a chamber once belonging to the ancient First Civilization, with the help of several colonists and a Mohawk woman named Kaniehti:io. Unable to open the Temple, Haytham initiates a romantic relationship with Kaniehti:io, resulting in a son (Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor). It is revealed that Haytham is a Templar when he initiates one of the colonists, Charles Lee, into the order.

Years later, Ratonhnhaké:ton is now the PC character. His village is burned by Lee and his cronies, resulting in the death of his mother. The clan leader gives Ratonhnhaké:ton a sphere which contains a message from Juno. Juno leads Ratonhnhaké:ton to Achilles Davenport, a retired assassin who agrees to train him and renames him “Connor.”

The rest of the game focuses on Connor’s evolution as an assassin, his plan to seek revenge against Lee, and his angst regarding his parentage. I very much enjoyed the moral conflict in Connor’s storyline; Connor is resentful of his father’s involvement with the Templars, but also desires to find common ground with him once he hears of Haytham’s goals. I also really liked the Haytham plot twist, as it took me by surprise and prompted a lot of emotional investment in the family drama.

However, the sheer amount of things to do in the open world distracted from the plot and at times threw the pacing off. I also did not like some of the tropes that this game utilized to tell a story involving indigenous characters. Connor’s mother, Kaniehti:io, was a competent warrior and formidable personality, but was primarily present to have a white man’s child and then be killed for emotional shock value. I also don’t think this game pushed hard enough against colonialism, making the Americans out to be morally right despite their supposed “flaws” and showcasing some violence against indigenous people for shock value. However, I appreciated that this game featured many indigenous actors and put a lot of dialogue in indigenous languages.

Desmond’s story was much improved from Revelations. He’s back to working with his team, which made for fun character interactions, and his father also joins the mix, which nicely parallels the tumultuous Haytham/Connor relationship. The stakes are also much higher than in previous games regarding the First Civilization - whereas the team was previously looking for artifacts in the Ezio games, this game features the exploration of an actual Temple housing more information.

I also played the DLC, “The Tyranny of King Washington,” which follows an alternate timeline in which Washington has been corrupted by the Apple. Washington has declared himself King and rules America with ruthless tyranny. To take him down and combat the power of the Apple, Connor must channel supernatural powers derived from animal spirits. While the premise was incredibly interesting to me, the execution was rather poor, especially in terms of indigenous representation. Kaniehti:io was resurrected only to be killed again, and the story featured a lot of scenes of indigenous suffering, including slavery and violence. I also don’t think the “spirit animal” powers were portrayed in a way that was respectful of the actual religious/spiritual significance of spirit animals in Native cultures. I’m somewhat ignorant, though, so I would prioritize criticism from indigenous gamers rather than mine - see what they have to say about the base game and the DLC.

Characters: Haytham Kenway, the first PC character, is initially pretty likable in that he’s witty and charismatic. I like that he was sarcastic and seemingly well-polished, holding in his emotions like only a posh British character can. He was also shown to be brutal at the drop of a hat, and his feelings tended to get the better of him when it came to certain topics, both of which kept me on my toes. The fact that he is the first PC character creates a lot of sympathy for him, mirroring Connor’s later emotional turmoil when he’s being pressured to kill his father despite desiring an alliance.

Connor is a lot more stiff and broody, which is understandable due to the trauma in his past. While he isn’t very charismatic, I did like him as a character, since he was willing to call out the hypocrisy of everyone around him. I particularly enjoyed the way he highlighted how the Americans were all about freedom for the select (white) few - no one, not even Washington, escapes criticism, and it was refreshing to see a non-idealized portrait of the Founding Fathers through Connor’s eyes. Connor did have his sweeter moments, especially when interacting with the people living on his homestead, and I loved when he found joy in the family he made. I do wish he had been given more joy throughout the game - he so rarely expresses positive emotions that he seems like a stick in the mud.

Side characters, such as the Founding Fathers, were well-realized in that they weren’t portrayed as heroes. Washington is shown to be unable to deal with problems in any way other than by violence, and Adams is called out for his insistence that white colonists need to be free before enslaved Africans can be freed. NPCs living on the homestead are also given unique conflicts and storylines that made them feel real, and being able to converse with them at any point in the game was a fun way to feel connected to them.

Desmond is back to being his pre-Revelations self, balancing charisma and determination in a way that makes him compelling. Nothing is necessarily new regarding his characterization, so he acts more like a staple that links the Ezio games to the Haytham/Connor story, making them feel part of the same continuity.

Gameplay: I really enjoyed the way much of the gameplay from the previous Assassin’s Creed games is updated and reimagined for an 18th century setting. Parkour/free running is simplified, and target lock has been eliminated for a more fluid combat experience. Players also no longer need to use medicine to heal, as health regenerates automatically with time. Players can also use more of the environment to assist with stealth; haystacks and wells make a reappearance, as well as groups of people for blending, but Connor can also hide in tall grass, bushes, and behind corners. I also liked that Connor could whistle to lure enemies towards a hiding spot before taking them out.

In terms of weapons, Connor has access to some staples, such as the hidden blade, sword, bow, pistol, etc. but also has some interesting options, such as the tomahawk and rope dart. All of these options were simple to use and required very little practice to get right, though combat itself felt significantly more difficult than in previous games. Several enemies are difficult to take down, such as the Scotsmen wielding giant axes, but players who like a challenge might enjoy the increase in difficulty.

Connor can also recruit new assassins and level up their abilities, similar to Ezio’s actions in Brotherhood. The recruits are able to be used in a number of new ways, not just in a fight, which makes them fun to play around with.

Connor is also able to control his notoriety in much the same way that Ezio could, though instead of “heralds,” there are “town criers” and instead of assassinating a corrupt official, Connor can bribe a printer to create counter-propaganda. Pretty clever, if you ask me.

Collectibles such as Benjamin Franklin’s almanac pages, feathers, and treasure chests are also available and pretty standard - you collect them, you get rewards. Connor can also participate in side quests and challenges, such as a fight club and assassination contracts. To move around the large map, Connor can use fast travel, though to be honest, the map was so big that exploring it all could get tedious.

Also returning is the concept of full synchronization, which was a pain. Like the Ezio games, conditions for full sync did add some challenge to the game, but it was incredibly annoying to do a mission over and over again in order to reach 100%. I’d much rather have a single goal and go about it my own way without the impression of being penalized (even if that penalty doesn’t affect the gaming experience overall).

In terms of the economy, Connor is tasked with managing a homestead. Instead of improving the property or buying monuments, Connor recruits tradesmen such as loggers, miners, and farmers, as well as artisans such as tailors, innkeepers, and blacksmiths. The former group produces raw materials which can be turned into crafted goods by the latter, which Connor then puts on a caravan to be sold in town. Profits enable Connor to buy more weapons and consumables, and tradesmen/craftmen can be leveled up to produce more profitable goods through “homestead missions” which advance NPC stories.

Hunting is also introduced as a way for Connor to gain resources (such as pelts and meat), which are then used for crafting or for sale at trading posts. To hunt, Connor can use a range of tricks, including reading the environment for clues, planting snares, and using bait to lure skittish animals. I liked that hunting was always an option, but never required, since actually finding certain animals could be a chore. Connor also has the option of playing games such as Nine Men’s Morris to earn money through gambling at taverns, though I personally never opted for that. I did think the idea was clever, as it was a neat way to include micro-games in the larger structure.

By far, the most interesting new addition was naval combat. Connor can upgrade his ship, the Aquila, and go on a number of naval missions which earn him rewards. It took some getting used to, and often, the combat could be cumbersome, but I actually enjoyed myself quite a bit. These missions were never overly long, and some of them had interesting world building details.

The DLC has a lot of the same gameplay mechanisms, with the added bonus of “spirit animal powers” (see my assessment above). Basically, these are supernatural abilities that allow Connor to briefly turn invisible (wolf), fly short distances (eagle), and take down multiple enemies or smash through structures with great strength (bear). These abilities were somewhat insensitive thematically, but fun to use in terms of gameplay; I liked being able to sneak past enemies without needing to dart between bushes, and I loved flying across rooftops rather than jumping and climbing them. However, these powers also made exploring the map somewhat irrelevant - treasure chests primarily included consumables, such as arrows and rope darts, so if players find themselves preferring combat using a blade and animal power, there’s not much incentive to clear the map of points of interest. Nor is there much incentive to do side quests or challenges, as their rewards don’t add much to the gaming experience unless you use a lot of consumables.

Visuals: Assassin’s Creed 3 is a beautifully rendered game. The environments are stunning, whether they are seascapes or the wilderness on the “Frontier.” I also think the cities were well-done and eye-catching; even though buildings and streets were somewhat monotone (earthy tones), they never felt dull and little details made the design pop (things like posters/broadsides or splashes of color here and there).

Connor’s assassin outfit is also appealing in that it mashes up some 18th century fashion with accessories that denote his indigenous heritage. The red and white color palette from the Ezio games is replaced by a blue and white scheme, perhaps to show that Connor is not aligned with the British Redcoats, but even so, it still felt like an assassin uniform. I also liked the designs of Haytham’s cape, coat, and tricorne, as well as Achilles’ nod to his past through his accessories.

Animations were very fluid, and Connor’s combat maneuvers were interesting and varied. I think they were much more aesthetically pleasing than Ezio’s, and I liked how the body movements (tumbling, spinning) made them feel physical. There were some moments when awkward camera angles would obscure my vision, which cost me some kills or opportunities here and there, and there were occasionally some glitchy graphics, but they didn’t pull me out of the game the way Revelations did.

Final Verdict: Despite the plot being weakened by pacing problems and some questionable Indigenous representation, Assassin’s Creed 3 is beautifully rendered and improves on the franchise’s formulae by reimagining the Assassin-Templar conflict in a new setting.

#video game review

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lallemcnt · 5 years

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but all i see is him right now — 2.8k (ao3)

let's call this eliott and lucas hanging out in an unknown location, in an unknown setting, in an unknown time; lucas' head is muddled by thoughts of how much he wants eliott.

or, the one where lucas sighs dramatically (several times) and they talk about soulmates.

if he closes his eyes, and just .... thinks back on tender hours of hands brushing and cheeks flushing and red lips and warm breath, he —

“where are you?”

lucas squints his eyes open against the afternoon sun, blinking rapidly, and, perhaps, frowning because the person before him let’s out a light laugh, their silhouette changing from pure light to brown, fluffy hair, indiscernible grey-green-blue eyes and pink lips spread in a teasing smile: “you did it again.”

eliott is sitting there, smiling in all his breathtaking glory, staring directly at lucas who, in turn, grows warm in the cheeks and looks down at his hands. he did it again — the daydreaming seemed a prerequisite to hanging out with eliott recently. in lucas’ case, anyway. recently, he thinks, they haven’t even known each other that long.

“i should put that on my resume: interesting enough to bore lucas lallemant out of his intelligent mind.”

that’s because i spend every single minute of every day thinking about you, making up stupid fantasy scenarios about us; being in your company makes my brain overload, but lucas can’t say that. so, he narrows his eyes and kicks out a leg against eliott’s ankle, because he’s an emotionally mature adult who knows how to respond to digs no matter how lighthearted they are. eliott responds by grabbing lucas’ ankle and squeezing it. lucas tries to kick his leg out of eliott’s grasp, but soon stops — he’s tired and there’s no heart in it — lets out a dramatic sigh before lying down on his back and looking up at the sky.

seconds later he feels light fingers on the bare skin of his ankle where his jeans must have ridden up, his leg jerks in response to the soft touches, the fingers stop and when he relaxes once more, they pick up again.

no words are uttered, contrary to the rush of thoughts that consume lucas’ mind as eliott tattooes lucas’s ankle with his soft, calloused finger tips. the thing is, lucas has never had a friend quite tactile as eliott. someone who hugged everyone he met; he would hang his arm around your neck in a group circle; instead of pointing out you had something on your shirt he’d pick it off himself or take a piece of fluff out of someone’s hair. lucas couldn’t name the number of times he and eliott’s hands would brush when they walked side by side after school, but lucas always put it up to eliott and his cuddly demeanour. he was, by nature, a soft dude. his presence was magnetising; to be at the centre of that attention that everyone, whether they knew him well or not, craved, was sublime. so lucas didn’t question that moment, where others would see it as something more, he knew it wasn’t, and yet against all reason and logic he couldn’t quite help himself, knowing what would follow, he still let himself dream it was. it hurt when he thought about it too much which was all the time, but soaking up eliott’s presence and being with him, even in only a platonic way, seemed to ease the pain, but when lucas was on his own that was a different matter. the nights when he couldn’t sleep because of his insomnia, he would lie there in bed and dream, he would pull back his yellow curtains, encouraging the moon spread her light, initiating thoughts of that drawing. the greek on the moon. lucas liked to think of the moon as selene; ever since he’d learned that greek name, and ever since he’d seen eliott’s drawing, that name seemed to give it a new life — they were both ruled by the moon, after all, being cancers and all.

“i was thinking about the moon.” lucas spoke, volunteering his thoughts for no other reason than he felt like it.

“what about her?” eliott’s interest was palpable, he even stopped tracing patterns on lucas’ calf. lucas yearns for the touch, almost to the point he forgets what he was speaking about, but not quite.

“about your self-portrait on the moon.” he glances at eliott who looks thoughtful, waiting for lucas to continue. “and i was thinking how would you draw me? what animal would i be?”

eliott’s silent for a few seconds, contemplative. then he says, “sit up for me.”

lucas complies, suddenly feeling nervous in that i’m-in-love-with-you-and-it’s-so-obvious way, believing that his eyes will give him away so he gives himself a second before meeting eliott’s eyes. eliott is sitting by his feet, considering lucas. he tilts his head and gets a faraway look in his eyes, picking up the beer resting beside him: “i’d have to think about it.”

okay, lucas thinks, okay.

eliott is fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, so lucas proceeds to lie back down and sigh once more. sometimes he thinks it’s not one sided — the feelings, that is. in the mornings after having drank too much at a party and inevitably retreating back to one of le gang’s homes, and walking home together at 11am because they live only a street away from each other in the opposite direction to the other three. in the mornings when it’s tipping towards a warm afternoon, but they’re both decked out in their jackets, messy hair and morning breath and slow gaits, wishing to be home but also wishing for just a second longer in the other’s company. maybe there’s a hand brush or two, a few glances out of the corner of the eye, playful shoving because can one really be around eliott without some kind of physical contact that somehow leads to slightly longer touches, followed by avoided glances and painful hearts and close tears. but as soon as he’s had a few eliott-less hours logic returns and reprimands lucas for being so naïve because no one ever loves the person who craves love due to severe abandonment issues. no one could ever love the boy who turns spiteful when he’s angry and spits out harsh words he doesn’t mean.

lucas feels himself getting agitated by his ceaseless negative, spiralling thoughts and so he ditches that train of thought to prevent the casualty he can see himself creating. he sits back up, tugs his knees to his chest, tilting the side of his head to rest on them. he glances at eliott who is already staring back at him.

“are you sure you’re okay?” eliott inquiries, concern etched on every plain of his sun-kissed face. summer is almost over. eliott brushes a hand through lucas’ hair once before cradling his beer bottle once more. “you don’t seem yourself today.” he concludes.

lucas shrugs his shoulders and decides to be honest for once. “i don’t feel in the best mood. sorry for my terrible company.”

eliott shakes his head, but before he can come up with what lucas believes would be a placating response, despite no times of this before, lucas interrupts, changes the subject. “i’ve never met anyone guy who is so comfortable around their male friends.”

as soon as it’s out of his mouth he regrets it. eliott’s hand retreats, his body language immediately becomes closed-off: shoulders hunched, no eye contact — eyes squeezed shut before glancing off to the side. lucas wants to hit himself, badly.

“no!” lucas yelps. it’s instinctive because he adores eliott, and hurting the people he cares for is the last thing he wishes to do despite the recent regularity of it. sometimes lucas thinks he hurts himself this way on purpose, punishes himself for being this messed up boy, any time he’s reached the light. he doesn’t find eliott’s tactile nature weird. if anything, he yearns for it — his heart almost craves it. “i-“ love it. he takes a breath, because he can’t say that. “i didn’t mean it like that. i meant- it’s you. that’s just how you are. you’re warm and you-“ lucas stops. he can’t believe he- he can’t look eliott in the eye — doesn’t know if he could conceivable do so anyway because he hasn’t looked at eliott’s face since he retreated into his shell — so he does the next best thing instead. he, ungracefully, pushes eliott’s legs down and flops down on them, resting his head on eliott’s thighs and raising an arm to shield his eyes from the glaring sun which has begun to set.

“it’s just different to all our other friends, you know? but it’s nice. it’s beyond nice,” and he goes rambling on, because he’s nervous but he wants to make sure eliott knows for certain that it’s not weird, that’s it’s good, in fact. “it’s comforting. especially for someone who didn’t grow up with that kind of ... familial affection.”

eliott relaxes after those words, disrupting his own silence with movement. carefully brushes a strand of lucas’ perpetually errant hair behind his ear and he’s smiling, full teeth and beautiful crinkled-eyes, causing lucas’ stomach to drop.

how is he supposed to breathe normally around that? lucas’ mind conjures up paintings from the few museums eliott has successfully managed to drag him to. he pictures contrasting harsh and soft lines, bold colours and soft tones. but his mind lands on muted, yellow flowers- sunflowers, which he’s sure were once bright and confident in their own beauty, dulled by time and the constant attention of roaming eyes: from breathless awe to complete apathetic glances. now, lucas has never actually see the painting in real life, rather, only through the fractured screen of eliott’s phone, but they stole the air from his lungs the first time he laid eyes on them. lucas has never been the most artistic, preferring the practicality and logic of science, he thinks years of unnecessary school trips to galleries tainted art for him, forever, until he met a certain someone. he’s not sure why these sunflowers have this specific affect on him, and whether it’s actually the painting itself, or rather how the moment he was shown them still compels feelings of joy and unbridled laughter from him, especially in his most desolate moments. eliott was practically standing on top of lucas, buzzing with excitement, phone shoved directly in lucas’ line of sight — definitely too close, because lucas had burst out laughing, grabbed eliott’s hand with the phone in, and pulled it back from his eyes, which had closed from the brightness and nearness of the screen to them. his head had fallen back against eliott’s shoulder and he’d looked up at him, shaking his head:

ok, ok, ok!

ok, lucas lied. It’s definitely the feeling of that moment that made him love the painting so.

“look at the sky, lu.” eliott’s quiet voice disperses lucas’ thoughts.

lucas glances up. he hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten; the sky was a gradient of beauty: magenta, easing into a violet, dripping into a cerulean blue. there is something magical about dusk, as the sky is no longer dominated by the burning sun, is left to its own devices, unraveling its perpetual blue to reveal a masterpiece of colour.

eliott glances at lucas whose face must mirror his own feelings because he responds. “yeah.”

“i like this.”

“me too.”

“i’m surprised you’ve been single this long.”

eliott snorts out a laugh, tipping his head back. “four months. all of which you’ve known me for.”

“huh, four months?”

“yep.” a hand brush through lucas’ brown locks.

“feels like forever.”

“i know.”

a few hours roll by, the daylight hours cycling at a rapid pace, it’s almost time for them to leave each other, but that’s not what’s on lucas’ mind, he’s found himself getting all heated over a topic many find nonsensical — that he wouldn't dare raise with le gang in fear of being laughed out — but he’s with eliott and they often find themselves getting all kinds of existential about fate and relationships and people.

“this idea that there’s only one person on the planet who your soul connects with is bullshit.”

“you don’t believe in soulmates?”

“no, it’s not that. i just don’t believe that there’s only one person out there ‘meant’ for you. i think you can connect with more than one person like that. every relationship is different, right? you talk to each friend about something different, or maybe the same thing but in polar-opposite ways. like, yann is definitely my soulmate. i love him. no one gets me like he does. he’s my brother. but i also have arthur who knows science like me; we can discuss new and old theories or articles we’ve read — that’s a passion we both share and i don’t get quite the same feeling when i’m speaking with someone else. then there’s basile who, yeah, jokes around a lot, is inappropriate 85% of the time, but what most people miss, because they don’t take the time to get to know him, is that he’s a fucking brilliant listener, you know? so if someone’s gonna sit there and tell me there’s only one person on the planet for each person then i’m calling bullshit because i have these three great dudes in my life who are without a doubt, my soulmates.” lucas is breathing slightly harder than normal, almost like he’s just finished a 200m sprint. he didn’t mean to get so passionate and worked up. he’s almost embarrassed again. but he didn’t say anything stupid, he’s sure of that, and he meant every single word.

“i always thought the idea that there’s only one person you really fall in love with was romantic as fuck, but...what you just said...your conviction proves that feeling wrong,” eliott responds, licking his dry lips once. “i never thought about friends as soulmates, but it makes complete sense.”

“i don’t know about love...” lucas teeters off. “i’ve never really felt that before.” he admits, looking down at his hands and turning them over, because he’s insecure on this subject matter — the expectations that everyone is young when they first experience it, and if you haven’t you’re automatically deemed an outsider. is it a lie though? has he never felt it, what are these feelings he gets around eliott? he loves hanging out with him but does he love him? can lucas love in that way?

“it’s strange. it’s the most consuming emotion. it’s one of the best and worst feelings...i miss it.”

“you miss being in love or you miss your ex. aren’t they kind of the same thing?”

“i don’t miss my ex, but, yes, i miss being in love.”

lucas doesn’t respond and eliott, it seems, doesn’t feel the need to expand on that, despite lucas’ brain wanting it more than anything — for eliott to explain why and if there’s someone he likes... another few minutes pass by in their companionable silence, no daydreams for lucas, just the sounds of traffic, pushchair wheels bumping over fallen twigs and a cold, subtle breeze — a harbinger of the night — it comes and it goes, much like their conversations that day.

“so, what about me?” eliott inquiries with a teasing smile on his lips. the breeze, though seemingly gentle, has carolled his hair into a wilder state — it brings a smile to lucas’ face, who only tilts his head in response.

“am i a soulmate?”

they’re sitting only a few inches apart, and the question feels personal — almost too much, but lucas has been spiralling on thoughts of eliott all this time, and he can’t help himself any longer.

“are you a soulmate?” lucas ponders, crossing his knees to sit directly in front of eliott who nods in askance.

“hm.” is all lucas replies as he raises his palms and indicates for eliott to do the same, which he does, placing his palms against lucas’. warmth blooms, and they both let out light sighs, masked by the other’s; it’s a cobalt-blue sky now, and the noises of the lives of the people around them are muted to the feeling of their contact.

lucas swallows and puts on a grin, “dear world, is eliott demaury a potential soulmate for i, lucas lallemant?” he felts warm breath ghost out in a chuckle.

lucas raises his eyebrows with a mock reprimanding look in his eyes. “what’s so funny?” eliott rolls his lips in, trying to prevent the smile and laugh from escaping before opening his mouth to sincerely apologise, but lucas interjects. “this is serious. i mean, if you don’t want to find out if we’re destined to know each other for life, then, i don’t know why i’m wasting my precious time.” all this he says, while trying to maintain his raised eyebrows, but eliott’s cheeks are puffing out and lucas’ head is becoming slightly sore from exercising his eyebrow muscles, and they’re looking each other dead in the eyes now — blues and greys and greens dark with no light to illuminate them — trying not to crack up. eliott clutches his stomach, falling forward, his forehead resting on lucas’ shoulder.

it’s a bliss no words can name, no language lucas knows can describe this feeling.

#mine #elu fic #this is scary but i posted this a while back on ao3 and i hope u enjoy :)#skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu

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lukeskywaker4ever · 4 years

Text

King Pedro V 2nd Voyage (May 20th to August 14th, 1855): France

The 1854 trip was not, in fact, the last that King D. Pedro V made through the old European continent. In the following year he made a new tour and, in the excitement of what would follow, Pedro described, in his new diary, the wonders of traveling for those who want to educate themselves: “On a trip you receive an instruction that is very different from that of books, an introduction that books do not give, that instruction that you receive just because you throw your head out of the window. A trip, and a trip mainly in civilized Europe, that of the revolutions that have changed the face of our society, that shows us the remains of great nations, the effects of political errors, is a great relief to the thirst for instruction, a momentary relief and for that reason it is painful for those who see it before them only a bad time.” This time, and to fill the gap from the previous trip, France was the starting point for a new tour. It would be, again, the ship Mindelo

carrying King D. Pedro, who was accompanied, as in the previous year, by his brother Luís.

On May 25th, at noon, the ship reached the river Gironde, which bathes the city of Bordeaux. However, at that hour, the river was no longer navigable, so Mindelo had to land in Pauillac, a few kilometers from Bordeaux. Predicting that this could happen, Emperor Napoleon III

had already made available a steam, the size of which allowed him to sail to the French city. In Bordeaux, the floor of Place de Quinconces, next to the river, “was exquisitely carpeted, and had a rich pavilion decorated with the arms of Casa de Bragança and those of the Emperor, superimposed in the colors and flags of Portugal and France. The garrison troops formed in the Quinconces square

made wings in the passage of the royal procession.” When the French steam, which brought D. Pedro and D. Luís, docked: “A royal salvo announced the landing of the Augustos Viajantes; the drums played the generala; the songs played the Portuguese anthem, and the cheers of the Emperor and the King live from all sides. The population of Bordeaux was crowded on the quay, the prospect was magnificent and pompous, and the weather that had become excellent contributed to the brilliance of the ceremony.”

A sumptuous carriage had been placed at the disposal of the King of Portugal, taking him to the Hotel de Ville,

where he was accommodated. In that same space, a “banquet of 35 place settings” was waiting for him, that is, for 35 diners. In the short stay of just one day, Pedro had the possibility, right after the banquet, of watching a play in the theater where “the rich of Bordeaux are seen strutting, eager for pleasure and possessing the means to satisfy them.” However, he did not stay to meet them. The destination was Paris and he headed there. The next day he left Bordeaux to take the train in Orléans that would take him to the main Gallic city. On the way, after being delighted with the architecture of the station, he had time to admire the bridge over the Garonne,

“one of Napoleon's great public works.” As he crossed France, he meditated on the advantages and disadvantages of large and small farms: “While I did not read the story impartially, I believed in the goodness of the property division, today I am more reserved and more illustrated in my opinion .” In Paris, he had the opportunity to talk about the matter, once again concluding that the big property was the best: “Everyone lamented, like me, the extreme division of property and some [individuals] I have heard triumphantly refute the argument of the advantage of interested the small people in the territorial property and consequently in the order. I said it above that the extreme division of property is a socialism and a communism that has the only advantage, and this is very considerable because of its results, but intrinsically insignificant, of not being nailed to the side of a platform that is less than the saddle of a cavalryman. It is a communism with all its evils, except that of Mr. Proudhon's communism, who unfortunately is not incarcerated in Charenton with Fourier and all this school of men of doctrines who, during 20 years of practice, have shown their complete nullity and uselessness.” D. Pedro wished to see in Portugal large farms managed by responsible owners.

As for the railway, which he used between Orléans and Paris, he criticized the way the engineers had planned it: “It is what I have against men of doctrine, it is that imaginary life that prevents them from looking at reality . So, this railroad that crosses a very rich country out of respect for the geometric principle that the straight line is the briefest space from one point to another, passes away from important cities, it seems that to follow its route to the letter. railway title from Paris to Bordeaux.” Then he commented: “The bureaucratic administration of countries that enjoy the so-called benefits of centralization, centralizes the country's geography; geography is centralized, he thinks it has centralized the country's interests.”

Arrived in Paris, only the Portuguese were allowed to enter the station, in order to kiss the hand of their sovereign. Escorted by a cavalry honor guard, the chariot carrying D. Pedro and D. Luís, went to the Tuileries palace.

There they were expected by Napoleon III and his court and, after due cordiality and introductions, Napoleon personally led his guests to the rooms prepared for them in the Marsan pavilion,

in that same palace. The room for D. Pedro was carefully prepared, ending, in fact, a surprise that touched young Portuguese. Napoleon III “ordered the portrait of His Augusta Mother Mrs. Dona Maria II

from his nostalgic memory to be placed in El-Rei's room, and the August Guests were manifestly touched by such exquisite delicacy, shaking hands with the Emperor in a sense and silent recognition .” After dinner, where Pedro and Luís were able to exhibit the Legion of Honor

that had been conceived for them the previous year, the fatigue of the trip made them retire to their rooms by ten o'clock at night.

In the Tuileries, on the following day, May 27th, he attended a Mass, in the company of the French Emperor, who celebrated that Pentecost Sunday, having appreciated the fact that he attended Mass in uniform, which, in his opinion, contrasted with the procedure by Luís Filipe de Orléans,

who “did not hear mass, so as not to have natural science teachers, doctors and economists against him.” Then Pedro was finally able to see Paris and, as such, monuments and parks received his presence. He looked discreetly at Chantilly's horse racing

and, in horror, at a vaudeville theater. He then visited the Grenelle well,

the slaughterhouse and an establishment for the education of the blind. In general, comments about the visit are more banal than those made during your first trip. At one point, he compared London and Paris, saying that the former was a serious city, while the latter would be frivolous. He commented, in the following way, on the way the two peoples looked at their respective governments: “While the revolution of 1640 lives in the memory of all English and while the spirit of self government animates each member of that monarchical republic, where the sovereign is everything and nothing, the French people leave the care to think of the events to a few, that of governing those who carry out their interests.” The fact that Dom Pedro admired England did not prevent him from feeling any resentment against the country. The Universal Exhibition of Paris,

which he visited, made a good impression on the spirit of the monarch, who found the European continent's industry well represented. Even if promoted by the government, the Exhibition was, in his opinion, a worthy response to the British challenge: “It is the Continent to show that the germs it presented in London have developed and that it has learned to take advantage of the great lesson.” After the official visit, he returned there, repeatedly, with his brother, but incognito, certainly with the desire to escape the hustle and bustle that his presence created, serenely seeking to admire the exhibition without interruption or agitation. The Museum of Natural History

had a dubious effect, it did not criticize it directly, on the contrary, but it reflected the modesty of the collections: “In general, the collections suffer from a certain modesty, very fatal, which is also prevalent in our land , which is their lack of resources and their bad administration because, as everyone knows, the wise are not made to settle accounts. ” The big problem, according to him, was the centralizing tendency that drowned out all the forces that existed in societies: “and politician that we voted for after the people blindly left the centralizing power to think for them…”

The avalanche of visits took him to bed, this time with an attack of headaches, which the doctor treated with mustard synapisms in the bellies of his legs. The disease had a compensation, received the visit of Napoleon III and the Count of Morny,

then President of Parliament. Two days later he was recovered. During the visit to the Cluny Museum,

he reflected on the nature of constitutional government, exhibiting the mixture of idealism and pessimism that would characterize it: “If there was not so much suspicion against the real power, if the ministers did not love the portfolios so much, there were more who wanted to tell the truth to kings and their ministers, and the people understood their interests better, in short, if man were as he should be and not as he is, the best form of government was found; but that form will not see it for our generation or the next, if it is possible that man can never see it. ” D. Pedro would never understand the reasons that led men to walk “bad ways”. For him, mistakes were anachronisms. Pedro and Luís also visited the Louvre Museum,

the Palace of Versailles,

the Navy and the Artillery.

Of everything he saw in Paris, and it was not little, he especially liked the parades, which shows the fascination that everything that was military has always exercised over D. Pedro. The night of the 4th of June was spent in Campo de Marte,

in a “highly poetic” environment, with 30,000 bayonets glowing, alongside 48 cannons, in a march that had as its backdrop “the cheerful and bellicose chirping of 6000 horses ”. He was excited: "Only those who have no soul, do not feel anything, do not feel a pleasant shiver, seeing what is most admirable in the world, how man managed to subject hundreds of thousands of men to one will." The next day, he had to go for a walk in the streets, something he looked at in a pedagogical way, that is, as something planned with the objective of “studying the physiognomy of the daily life of this great city, so full of grandeur and defects and which focuses on itself in human science and serves as a starting point for spreading over the earth.” In addition to shopping, he visited the Sèvres porcelain establishment, which motivated him to reflect: “I confess that sometimes, when I feel the lack of means that the king of Portugal has to satisfy the most innocent passions, it is precisely when I feel possessed by the desire to own what I see, but I must console myself with the idea that what is beautiful in art belongs to everyone, is, for many, the source of indefinable enjoyments that the owner often does not feel.”

Then he took off from the Vincennes polygon,

the Casa da Moeda,

the cavalry school in Saumur,

the National Archives,

the School of Bridges and Sidewalks, an Exhibition of Agricultural Machines and the Imperial Library,

where he discovered some Portuguese works , such as, for example, the Chronicle of Guinea. On the 13th of June, after a dinner with the general staff of the armed forces, he spoke, for once, of D. Luís. He did it in a negative way: “I slept all the way and was already in bed when the brother returned from the Grand Opera House,

where he had gone to see the first performance of Verdi's Sicilian Vespers. I did not envy him the pleasure of listening to such good music; I had seen Saumur's school while he was having fun.”

On the 21st of June, preparing to leave Paris, the guests were again surprised. At seven o'clock in the morning they received the presence of the Emperor and the Empress,

who made a point of saying goodbye to the travelers once again. The gesture touched the Portuguese and the farewell was made of hugs and commotion. Napoleon did everything to ensure that nothing failed and made available, again, a French steam that waited for D. Pedro and the rest of the party in Marseille. Until then, they passed through Lyon, where they watched a search of the troops and a simulacrum of war, visited establishments and bought a souvenir, but from England. It was a silk portrait of Queen Victoria and her husband. On the 23rd of June the imperial train left for Marseille, but with a previous stop by Avignon, where the former palace of the popes

was visited and admired. At the next exit, the retinue boarded the steam provided by Napoleon. They were going to Italy.

#king pedro v of portugal #xix century #grand tour #portugal #france #king luis i of portugal #emperor napoleon iii

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sugar-kisser · 5 years

Text

Kang Yeosang « The Quiet Artist With A Lot To Say

The light of your phone illuminates your face and you read the large numbers across the top of your screen, 11:40pm. You’re just now getting back from a class, which yes is ridiculous the fact that it gets out at 11:30 but can you really blame astronomy for that? You push your key into you dorm room building and walk in and let the cool air raise goosebumps against your skin. You walk past the front desk and up three flights of stairs before reaching the fourth floor. You walk down the narrow hallway but stop when you pass by the art studio, lights still on. You peak through the window and spot several large canvases in a half circle and a small dark brown haired boy sporadically working on each one at the same time. You smile, recognizing the boy covered in paint and surrounded by his canvas’. It’s none other than Kang Yeosang the art prodigy of the university you two are currently attending.

You open the door and poke your head it, causing Yeosang to look up immediately, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeosang, it’s late,” you chirp as you open the door more for your body to sit in-between the doorway and the hallway.

“Yeah,” Yeosang sighs hand wiping his forehead, “but I have to get this project done for the final tomorrow in class.” Yeosang points at the several different canvas’.

“You still haven’t finished? We’ve had all semester to work on them,” you slightly gasp. You and Yeosang have an art class and all semester you had been working on your final project, and you managed to finish it last weekend. You can’t believe that Yeosang decided to do his so last minute.

“I just didn’t know what I wanted to do. But I finally got it. I’ll probably be up all night doing it,” Yeosang mumbles, “but I know it will turn out good.”

“Everything you do turns out goo. Just please don’t over do yourself,” you console to him.

“It’s sweet that you care for me Y/N,” Yeosang smiles as he looks down at his paintbrush, “I just hope that you are also taking care of yourself.”

“I’m trying,” you smiles softly, “well I’ll leave you be. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I’ll try not to,” Yeosang softly chuckles. You leave the room and continue down the hall towards your dorm.

You and Yeosang met at the beginning of the semester when you accidentally spilt you paint all over his clothes. The poor quiet boy was embarrassed and a complete mess. You had felt bad so you instantly poured a bunch of paint on yourself, causing him to laugh. Yeosang and you have been friends since and everyone wonders why you’re friends with the most quiet kid in the world considering how loud and energetic you are. People tell you that you bring life to where ever you go and there is just never a dull moment with you but Yeosang on the other hand is almost the complete opposite. He’s a quiet boy with a calm and sensible vibe; he’s also more on the cautious side and doesn’t like the spot light of attention.

You unlock your dorm room door and walk into the small room, closing the door behind you. You flip a light switch on and fid a bright pink sticky note from your roommate sitting on your laptop. ‘Spending the night with my boyfriend, will be back tomorrow xoxo.’ You place the sticky note back down on your desk and change into a hoodie and sweats before making tea. Absentmindedly you make two mugs because usually your roommate and you always have tea before going to bed but you sit there with an extra cup of hot tea that you can’t find it in yourself to drink a second glass of it.

You grab the mug and leave your room and head back towards the art studio. You somehow manage to open the door and walk in. Yeosang didn’t notice you the second time around and you close the door behind you by pushing it with your butt.

“Yeosang. I brought you hot tea if you want it,” you call out to the boy who looks up at you startled.

“Y/N, you scared me,” Yeosang’s hand flies over his chest and he leans forward a little. You walk over to him and hand him the mug which he gladly takes.

“Can I see what you are working on?” You ask standing on your tippy toes to look over the canvas’ that separate the two of you.

“No, no, no, no,” Yeosang chants lightly tapping your nose, “you have to wait till I present it tomorrow.”

“You always show me your work though,” you pout, “not even a small glance at one of them?”

“Nope,” Yeosang answers, “it’ll spoil it.”

“Who knew you could be so cold,” you sarcastically retort.

“You haven’t shown me your final project either,” Yeosang points a pain brush at you.

“Touché,” you point back at the artist. The two of you erupt into smaller laughter and it quiets down after a minute.

“Well I’m off to bed I am beat after astronomy,” you state heading towards the door, “goodnight Kang Yeosang.” You tilt your head to the side and smile waiting for the boy to look bak up from his painting to wish you a goodnight.

“Good night Y/N,” Yeosang responds to you, looking up briefly then back down at his painting. You exit the room and head back to your dorm, finishing your tea. You climb into bed and you drift into a heavy sleep, your thoughts of what Yeosang’s project could be consuming you.

Yeosang sits on the stool looking at the five different canvas’, all different sizes, each one with paint across them in a messy manner. Usually his work is well organized and clean but something prompted to do something outside his comfort zone, to make it messy. But through the mess you are still able to make out images of a face, and when put together it creates a perfect master piece.

Yeosang dips a a small tipped brush into a gold paint and signs each canvas in the upper left corner to claim his work although his actual inspiration he’s too scared to claim so he chooses to stay far and bury his feeling deep into his heart and let it out in his work.

——

“Y/N, your turn,” your professor singles you out. You asked to go later on because Yeosang has yet to show up and you wanted him to be there for your presentation of you project. You stand up from your seat and pull the cart, holding your rather large and heavy project. You had taken two bird cages and shaped them into lungs. Wrapped around the cages are flowers and inside the lungs crystals grow from the bottom and try to reach the top.

“What exactly do you have here, and why did you make it?” Your professor begins to interrogate you for your final.

“My project represen-“ you stop when you hear the door open, stopping you. Yeosang hurries in, his five canvas’ under his arms.

“Mr. Kang you are late and rudely interuptin-“

“Please let him be,” you stop your professor from telling him off, “he was up all night. I wanted him to be here so I could present anyway.” You professor takes a deep breath and allows Yeosang to take him seat next to mine in the back. He quickly settles and his eyes land on my project, his mouth slightly dropping.

“My project represents how I’ve felt growing up. Constantly showered in affection by those who did not mean it,” you begin, “there was a quote that I fell in love with when I was 15. It stated ‘you made flowers grow in my lungs and although they are beautiful, I can’t breathe.’ When I was younger I had an experience with someone who drowned me in such fake love and I was foolish to believe that it was real. In the end it felt like he grew flowers in my lungs and I could no longer breathe without feeling such a fake love that was never real.”

“So what do the crystals represent?” The professor asks.

“In a way it’s like moss; it grows over time. Instead I wanted something to show the heavy feeling that it has been sitting with me because I’ve never shared that story before. The build up of keeping something so secret had it’s own consequences, and although I don’t need to share this story I need to share the fact that I cannot accept another fake love because I wish to never drown again,” you explain. Everyone in the class claps for you and you look over at Yeosang who has the prettiest smile you had ever seen on him, a new gleam of life sparkling in eyes.

“You did absolutely amazing,” Yeosang whispers as you sit down next to him, your professor jotting down some notes before looking back up at the class, eyes scanning the room.

“Kang Yeosang you are the last to go,” you professor calls, shuffling papers around.

“Good luck,” you smile at him as he looks at you wordily, making you panic a little. He grabs his five canvas’ and heads towards the front of the room. He takes his time in setting up the paintings and quickly drops a clothier it before turning it around for the class to await. Yeosang takes a couple deep breaths and looking at you one last time. You give him a thumbs up and he nods his head ever so slightly and pulls the cloth off the canvas’. A wave of gasps escape all the mouths of the students in the room, even yours. Quickly a smile breaks onto your lips and you stare at the portrait Yeosang had managed to do of you.

Although brush stroke seem messy and disorganized with surprised you the most you still easily manage to figure out your distinct features.

“Why did you chose to paint Ms. Y/N?” You professor prompts.

“Well…,” Yeosang mumbles before coughing and speaking up, “I had no clue what I wanted to do. This is the first time ever I didn’t know what to present because this is suppose to be my best work and although I do that with each project you assign, I didn’t know what could easily top that.”

“So are you trying to tell me this isn’t a work you are proud of?” Your professor questions, leaving you on the edge of your seat as if you were waiting for the trilling climax of a movie.

“It’s the complete opposite. This is the best art piece I’ve ever done. It’s out of my comfort zone and I painted something I loved. It took my so long to realize that I can’t ignore a nagging feeling of pushing these feelings and ideas away. So I thought that by expressing my deepest thoughts and feelings would be the best way to show how I’ve grown as an artist,” Yeosang explains as he looks at you every now and then. You bite down on your lips trying to hide a smile and the tears in your eyes.

“Well it’s absolutely beautiful and I’m surprised that you’ve talked for so long but like I’ve said, once you find something you love you can’t shut up about it,” you professor chuckles, “thank you Mr. Kang.” Yeosang collect his paintings, stacking them up one-by-one neatly to not ruin the paint.

Students begins to exit the class and the professor as well surprisingly, wanting to be home and done for the summer.

You walk up to Yeosang and look over the paintings as he stacks them.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Why are you thanking me?” Yeosang chuckles looking over at you.

“You painted me beautifully,” you answer looking at him, “no one has ever been able to do that.”

“Well maybe I just know you best,” Yeosang teases tapping the tip of your nose. You softly laugh, causing him to laugh. He moves close and brushes the hair that falls in your face.

“I meant every word I said while I presented,” he tells you, looking down then back up at your eyes, “can I?” You nod your head, a small smile spreads you lips for a moment before Yeosang’s soft lips touch yours just for a couple seconds.

“I like you too Yeosang,” you smile, “you inspired me to tell a story that I��ve never shared before because I was scared that someone could play me again, but you gave me that urge to tell my story, and I’m so glad I did.”

“I’ll only ever paint you flowers. Never will they grow in your lungs,” Yeosang smiles before lightly kissing you again.

REWRITE

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #ateez x atiny #ateez x reader #atiny #ateez yeosang #ateez kang yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez au #college au #artist #paint #college final #kpop imagines #flowers

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 5 years

Text

Young Oon Kim hinted that Moon was not the messiah, but only in the line of the messiah.

▲ Allen Tate Wood with Miss Young Oon Kim in about 1971.

Moonstruck: A memoir of my life in a cult

by Allen Tate Wood (published in 1979)

extracts from pages 82-84 and pages 134-138

National headquarters was at 1611 Upshur Street, N.W., a big, funny old house with a double-pointed roof in a nice upper-middle-class black neighborhood with lots of big, shady maple trees. The building had once been the Libyan embassy. I was shown to a small room among the many on the second floor. There I would sleep on the blue close-cropped rug, because everyone in the Unified Family slept on the floor except Miss Kim, who did not either because she was a saint or because she was older or because she was rather frail.

▲ 1611 Upshur St NW, Washington, DC.

I had arrived during the dinner hour, and after I had brought my stuff to the room I joined the group of twenty-five or thirty seated at the two long cafeteria-style tables down in the linoleum-floored basement. Miss Kim sat at the end of one table and I was seated next to her. I was somewhat awed by Miss Kim. I knew her from the photograph that appeared on the back of the early editions of the Divine Principle, which she had translated. That picture showed a Korean maiden of about thirty-two in Oriental dress. She had an oval face, even features, lovely dark eyes and a mouth full and yet disciplined.

Now I saw her some eighteen years later and she was still pretty. Her hair was still long and jet black and she wore it pinned up. What her movements and posture now showed especially, and what the portrait had not been able to convey entirely, was how feminine and graceful she was.

I don’t remember what I ate that first meal, but I do remember Miss Kim’s quiet, gentle exploration of my personality. She asked me many questions about myself, but never in a rude stand-and-deliver manner that I might have expected from someone who so obviously held the respect of everyone in the room. She asked about the trip and observed that I must be exhausted, wanted to know about my education, my religious background, my hopes for the future, about my family and where I was from.

“Princeton,” I answered.

“I thought that was a university.” Her English was precise, pronounced delicately.

“It is. It is also a nice town. Many people are confused by that.”

“It is not so far from here?”

“No, not at all.”

“Will you visit your parents?”

“Yes, of course. We are a close family. I have not seen them for four months.”

“You have not seen them since you joined us?”

“No.”

“Have you written them?”

“Yes.”

“What do they say?”

“They don’t really seem to understand. But this has been a rather confusing time for us. They will.”

“They may not. I would not be surprised, Allen, if they never do. Most of us here are not old like me, but young. Many times families are the enemies of religious experience. Jesus said: ‘For I am come to set man at variance against his father. A man’s foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.’ Be prepared for the worst. Your family will oppose you in this. They will try to take you from us.”

This was not the first time nor the last time I would hear such sentiments. I had heard them many times already at Berkeley. We had been a young group, nearly all in our way dropouts, some of us deeply hurt, even maimed by the conflict with our society, and tales of ferocious fights with parents were commonplace.

________________________________________

pages 134-138

… I was demoted even further. I would not be a lecturer in Level III. I was going back to being a student. I was aghast. I had been expecting to be reinstated, like Frank and Neil Salonen, but here I was getting pushed even further down.

I went to Miss Kim. She was the power behind the power. She was everyone’s confidante; she knew all that was going on behind the scenes. And she had always liked me, favored me.

I remember talking to her as the late afternoon light faded in the kitchen. She sat with her elbows on the plastic tablecloth. Behind her on the shelves our motley, tacky collection of dishes was stacked. In the background the refrigerator hummed.

I told her the whole story in a great state of agitation. As I spoke she pulled the pins from her hair, which I had never seen down. Her beautiful blue-black hair cascaded about her shoulders. It was thick and long. It reached down to the middle of her back. There was greater meaning in the gesture, I thought. I felt I was seeing the unveiling of a celestial being. What she said did not disappoint me.

Miss Kim had always been a critical follower of the Reverend Moon. Once she had told me that she believed he had some years ago lost his ability to read minds and travel in the astral world. That was why he had to employ the three mediums now. Once she had hinted that Moon was not the messiah, but only in the line of the messiah. He was an Abraham figure, and his son or his grandson would be the true messiah. This was utter heresy, of course, and this was in the back of my mind as Miss Kim spoke.

“Do not worry, young Allen. Frank has many problems and you must bear with him. All this will smooth out later. Meanwhile, I have powers myself. I will look after you. You are under my protection.”

I left the interview completely satisfied. I felt that I had the blessing of a real-life good witch of the East. I did not know exactly what she meant, but I had faith in her. I recalled what had happened the last time I had come to her discouraged. I did become a student in Level III, and I bore with it the best I could. I was a good follower, and by November came the news that made me determined to remain one. The Reverend Moon was coming here!

In December 1971, about a week before Christmas, Moon was present for our Level III graduation, which was held at a church we rented across the street. We had been renting its basement for our Sunday services for a long time. I got a small printed certificate saying that I had graduated from Level III. Presumably I was rehabilitated.

Moon stayed in the Upshur Street house, in the “parents’ room,” which was a room we kept in every center, specially furnished and waiting, should the day come for the visit of Our Leader. He lay low for about a week. He watched a lot and he conferred privately with many people. I was not one of them; I was no longer in the inner circle. Then, on the day before Christmas, he came out of his room and began to speak. And he kept on preaching all through Christmas and on to the beginning of the new year, for the greater part of seven consecutive days.

Moon talked for many hours each day, until people began to fall asleep, and he would awaken them with a shout or a shake or even a slap across the face.

He told us many things. He told us that the messiah was now in the new Rome, that as of now he had made far more progress than Jesus ever had, though he was also far short of completing his mission. But from now on, his mission was here. Moon would not perform miracles, by the way, because miracles were merely crowd pleasers, nothing serious. Jesus’ miracles were a sign of failure, Moon said.

Moon retold the parables of the Bible, adding his own interpretations. Mrs. Won-bok Choi, the medium, translated for him, as she continued to do when he was in the United States and speaking more or less privately, to his own followers. When he spoke publicly, as he was preparing to do, for his mission was taking outward shape, Colonel Pak was the translator.

Moon told us about the nature of sin. The main duality in God’s creation was between good and evil. To do evil was to sin, but since everyone thought of themselves as good, how did we know when we were sinning? The answer was that when we were working for ourselves, we were sinning. When we were working for others, we could be sure that we were doing good. Even if we did things that seemed good to others, if we did these things out of our own vanity and egoism, then we were doing evil. Motive counted very heavily in Moon’s system. Just as we could lie for good motives, and thus be doing God’s work, we could tell the truth for bad motives and be doing Satan’s will.

Such a psychology kept us at constant war with ourselves, and if it succeeded in its aims, our energy would be constantly projected outward. Moon’s was not a religion of introspection, of mysticism, of finding a oneness with God or Nature, nor even a religion of peace or beauty. It was rather a path of action. He would tell us what to think, and our duty was to obey him. His was the perfect religion for those who wished to escape from themselves.

In those seven days Moon mapped out a plan of action and told it to us. He would begin a One World Crusade and he would speak for three days in each of seven cities. A number of us would be formed into mobile bus teams, whose job would be to go into each city as an advance guard. These people would rent the hall for him to speak, sell tickets, do publicity, preach in the streets and then, when at last the Master arrived, move on to the next city on the list and do the same thing. About all this there was an atmosphere of breathless urgency. This was not something that was to happen in the far future or even the near future, but right now. It was to begin even before the month of January was out.

But that was only part of the beginning of his mission, merely the bringing of the word. After having gotten our followers, we wanted to hold them. For that we needed more centers, at least one in every state, including Hawaii and Alaska. Despite our best efforts so far, we had centers in only eight states. We would immediately send out missionaries to all the other states.

In those seven days Moon also prayed many times, and each prayer ended with him in tears. He pulled out his big white handkerchief, snapped it open with a flourish, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. He even sang to us at times; his voice was not pretty, but it was powerful. He sounded like a wounded water buffalo. Moon’s voice had great range, and sometimes, in contrast to the low ranges of his singing, it rose in passion to a mere mouse’s squeak. All in all he was a gigantic, an enveloping personality.

One of the sad things that happened for those of us who knew and loved Miss Kim—and particularly for me, since I was under her protection—was that Moon deposed her, abruptly, impatiently, bitterly, though privately. He was angry; he told her she had failed. We heard that he told her she must assume in regard to him the role of a child. She must learn everything all over again.

______________________________________________

Young-oon Kim – it all ended in flames and tears for the professor

Newsweek on the many Korean messiahs of the 1970s

Park Tae-seon – another Korean Pikareum Messiah

Kim Baek-moon talked about “sexual union with God”

#Young Oon Kim #Sun Myung Moon #Unification Church #FFWPU #Allen Tate Wood #Korean messiahs

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hysterialevi · 5 years

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When the Devil Cries pt. 18

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

SHADY BELLE

ONE WEEK LATER

Waking up to a bright beam of sunlight hittin’ me directly in the face, I squinted in response and shielded my eyes with a lazy hand, only to feel my ears perk in interest when I suddenly picked up on the distant chime of piano music.

It sounded like it was comin’ from downstairs, and I could also hear a few other voices speaking over it -- Hosea and Abigail, to be precise -- but it didn’t seem like whoever was playin’ it was doing it out of leisure. It seemed more like...they was practicing. As if preparing for some kinda performance.

Heh. If I was bein’ honest, I completely forgot there was a piano downstairs in the first place. No one ever used it, and it was covered in dust and old paint just like everything else, but I could see it didn’t take Eddie long to find it.

It was nice to hear him playin’ again though. It felt like ages since he last hit a single note, and I was glad that the boy finally had some time to just take a breath and do what he loved, for once. He certainly deserved it.

Sluggishly rising from bed, I let out a fatigued yawn and rolled my shoulders, afterwards touchin’ up my appearance a bit before grabbing my hat and heading out the door.

It had been a while since I was able to walk freely on my own. Last time I was up and about, I was clingin’ onto Dutch like a man whose foot got stuck in a stirrup, and I felt like death. No -- worse than death.

Thanks to Eddie though, I was finally back home and in a good enough shape to return to work. Every inch of me still ached to some extent, but I imagined Dutch was done waiting, and had plans to hit that bank at any minute now. I’d have to be ready.

Pushing the door open, I made my way into the corridor and wandered to the stairs, listenin’ in on the conversation that was going on below as Eddie finished the song.

Abigail let out an impressed sigh, her soft voice echoing throughout the otherwise quiet mansion.

“That...was real nice, Eddie. I had no idea Arthur brought such a musician to us.”

Eddie smiled at her, thinking back to a certain memory. “Did you know I convinced Arthur to play the piano once?”

Abigail chortled. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“No, seriously. I managed to persuade him to play an entire song with me. He’s...actually not too bad at it.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t appear that shocked. “Is that so? Hmm...some part o’ me always knew Arthur weren’t as gruff as he came across. I mean, you leave that man with a pen and paper for long enough, and he might just create a masterpiece. Still though, I wish I was half as good as you when it came to the piano.”

Eddie quirked a brow. “You play the piano?”

“Not well,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I dabble in it sometimes. Though, it’s hard to practice regularly when I’m constantly lookin’ after that boy.”

The musician nodded in understanding. “Jack is quite the wanderer, indeed. He always seems to be exploring.”

Abigail gave him a nudge. “I was talkin’ about John.”

The two of them laughed nonchalantly at that, their voices gradually falling silent once Abigail decided it was time for her to leave.

She stood up from the piano, beaming at Eddie in a grateful manner.

“Well, thank you for playin’ that song, Mister Ryan. It was a nice change o’ pace, compared to what normally goes on around here, but...I should probably get back to work. Miss Grimshaw don’t like it when I take breaks. Or rest at all, for that matter.”

The boy waved her goodbye. “Then I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good day, Abigail. Perhaps I can teach you more songs some other time.”

The woman strolled out of the mansion. “I’d like that. Well, goodbye, Eddie. And take care of yourself, you hear?”

The pianist gave her an affable expression. “I’ll do my best.”

Tracing his fingers along the piano as Abigail took her leave, Eddie glanced outta the corner of his eye and watched Hosea as he avidly worked on something, catchin’ the boy’s attention.

Eddie peered at him in curiosity. “What are you making there, Hosea?”

The old man looked up from his project, grinning proudly as he sat up straight in his chair.

“Some bait,” he answered. “I’m planning to go hunting sometime soon. The camp should be good on food, but...it never hurts to be sure. And besides, I have no idea when I’ll get the chance to hunt again. There are so many fellas out there looking for us right now -- it’d honestly be dangerous to set foot outside camp. But we do what we have to do.”

Hosea placed the bait down for a moment, giving Eddie an inquisitive glance as I reached the bottom the stairs and quietly listened to his story.

“...Did Arthur ever tell you about that one time he and I went huntin’ for a bear?” Hosea asked.

Eddie shook his head, his expression lighting up with a newfound interest. “No. Did you catch it?”

“Yes, but it weren’t easy. We spent a few days in the wilderness all by ourselves, you see. Miles away from any sign of civilization. We were alone in the mountains...and we had nothing to go off other than my own memory.”

The old man rested his elbows on his knees, continuing the tale.

“It took us quite a while to hunt that animal down. Tracks were scarce, and the area we was camping in was huge. We would find the occasional fish carcass lying around, or disturbance in the grass...but nothing solid enough to lead us to our target.”

A victorious glint shimmered in Hosea’s eyes. “Eventually though, while Arthur and I were out scouting one day...we spotted a paw print. ...Two. Three! It was a trail. We followed it all the way up the mountain until we reached a gathering of boulders hidden deep inside a forest. It definitely looked like the sort of place a beast would turn into its home, and so that was where we placed the bait. Well, Arthur placed it. And once he was done, the two of us waited behind the boulders, sitting in complete silence.”

“We didn’t dare move a single muscle, not when there was a bear roaming around. Hell, we barely even breathed. After all, we had no idea if we truly had the upper hand in this situation. A beast such as the one we was hunting could’ve easily turned the tables if we weren’t careful, and on top of that, we were fighting it up close.”

Hosea smirked out of excitement as he reached the ending, amused to see that Eddie was listenin’ so intently to him.

“Finally, however, after what felt like an eternity...I heard a menacing growl not too far away from me. It sounded more like a monster than an animal, and I won’t lie: it got my heart racing. But I knew there was no time for fear. We had located our target at last, and it was our opportunity to strike. So, I reached for my rifle and prepared to confront it, when suddenly...a big, hairy beast came leaping out of the shadows from behind me and let out a ferocious roar, its raw power shaking the ground underneath as the birds fled from the trees surrounding us.”

Hosea brought his gaze to me, grinning mischievously.

“...Arthur scared the bear off pretty quick. Ha!”

I let out a blunt chuckle, shakin’ my head in an amused manner. “Oh, very funny.”

The older man laughed at my annoyance and took the bait in hand, switching to a more sincere tone as he leaned back in his chair.

“No...the truth is, Arthur saved my life that day. Like the old fool I am, I nearly let that bear get the best of me. But Arthur stepped in just in time. Just as I’m sure he’s done for you.”

Eddie nodded, turning towards me with a fond look. “He has.”

Hosea stood up from his chair. “See, Arthur? You do have a heart, after all.”

I snickered at that. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

The man smirked in return and began makin’ his way out the mansion, winking at Eddie in a friendly manner.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hosea teased as he walked through the door. “He may act like a big, angry moron -- and play the role exceptionally well sometimes, heh -- but there’s a soul lying underneath all that...whether he wants to admit it or not. ...Welp, anyway, I’ll leave you boys alone. In the meantime, I should go speak with Dutch. I know he’s been itchin’ to hit that bank. Stay safe.”

I gave him a casual wave. “You too, Hosea.”

Disappearing behind the mansion’s front doors, Hosea took his leave while Eddie and I stayed behind, the boy turning towards me with a relieved look on his face when he noticed I was no longer bed-ridden.

“Arthur!” Eddie greeted happily as I approached him. “You’re looking much better.”

I casually leaned against the side of the piano. “Thanks to you. How’s the gang been treatin’ you?”

The pianist’s response was surprisingly optimistic. “Most of them have been pretty welcoming. Hosea and Mary-Beth, especially. Mary-Beth can’t seem to get over the fact that you’ve found a new lover. She says it’s ‘adorable.’ Like a romance in one of those books she’s reading.”

I sighed, scratching my beard. “That does sound like somethin’ she would say.”

Eddie flicked his eyes to the side. “...And I may or may not’ve shown her the portrait you made of me.”

A groan escaped me. “...Dammit, Eddie.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist. It’s a wonderful drawing.”

“I’m just surprised you kept it this long.”

Eddie looked at me affectionately. “Of course I kept it. It’s...it’s special to me. I take it with me everywhere I go. Just brings back a lot of good memories, you know?”

I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck, tryin’ to hide the faint blush creeping onto my face. “Well, I’m glad you like it so much.”

A certain thought suddenly crossed my mind, leadin’ me to take a seat next to the boy as I propped myself on the edge of the piano’s thin bench.

“Listen,” I said, shifting inelegantly, “I, ah...I never thanked you properly for gettin’ me outta that camp.”

Eddie didn’t appear bothered. “I understand. You were just concerned.”

I rested my hand on the piano, mindlessly fiddling with its keys. “Yeah, but still. I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t come along and saved my ass -- all by yourself, no less. It was a brave and foolish thing, waltzin’ into their camp the way you did...but I’m grateful nonetheless. So...thank you.”

Scooting closer to the musician, I gently cupped his face and planted a brief kiss on his lips, earning a radiant smile from him as he nestled against my hand.

Eddie gazed me in a tender way, placing his own hand on top of mine.

“I’d do anything for you, Arthur. You know that.”

I nodded, furrowing my brow in uneasiness. “I do. And that’s what worries me. But I also know there ain’t no stoppin’ you once you’ve got your mind set on something. Just...don’t go throwin’ your life away like that again, okay? I don’t wanna die, but if it comes down to it, I’d rather you save yourself. Even if it means you can’t save me.”

The boy frowned at that. “Don’t talk that way, Arthur. I’m not going to abandon you.”

I let out a despondent sigh. “Yeah, well...you may not have a choice.”

Interrupting us before we could talk further, the front door suddenly swung open as Miss Grimshaw came stormin’ through, causing me and Eddie to jolt our heads in her direction to see what was goin’ on.

Susan hurriedly approached me, her temperament fueled with a sense of haste as always.

“Mister Morgan,” she called out in a cranky tone, “Dutch is lookin’ for you. Says he needs to speak with you about the bank job.”

I mentally chuckled to myself. I was wonderin’ how long it’d take for Dutch to hit the bank.

“Alright,” I said, rising from the bench and revealing Eddie in the process. “Guess I better go see him, then. Thank you, Susan.”

Upon noticing his presence, Miss Grimshaw brought her attention to the pianist and abruptly changed her mood, takin’ on a more compassionate and motherly nature.

“Oh!” She blurted out. “Well, hello there, young man. You must be that new member Dutch mentioned.”

I gestured to the boy. “This is Eddie. Eddie Ryan.” I switched over to the pianist. “Eddie, Miss Grimshaw.”

The man stood up from his seat, greeting her in a courteous manner as he reached out a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Susan politely shook his hand, actually managin’ to crack a smile for once.

“The pleasure is mine,” she replied. “It’s always a pleasure to meet someone with manners.” Grimshaw emphasized the last word, sending a glare my way.

I shrugged innocently. “I’ve got manners.”

The woman gripped my arm, forcefully guiding me out the mansion.

“For a no-good outlaw, perhaps. Now go on and get! Dutch is waitin’ for you in the gazebo outside!”

I chuckled, shielding myself from Susan’s frantic swats as she followed me out the door.

“Alright!” I said with a laugh. “I’m on my way.”

Miss Grimshaw regained her composure once I was outta the building and straightened her blouse, turning to Eddie with a sweet expression on her usually grumpy face.

“Mister Ryan, have you met Karen and Tilly yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered. “I’ve met Mary-Beth, though.”

Susan beckoned him. “Well, allow me to introduce you to ‘em. Them girls drive me insane, and they haven’t got a lick of manners like yourself, but I imagine they’ll be quite fond of you.”

Eddie followed the woman, the two of us divertin’ our paths once I spotted the gazebo.

“I hope you’re right. Lord knows I’ve made more than enough enemies.”

Miss Grimshaw nodded at that with a sigh.

“Haven’t we all.”

A LITTLE LATER

Approaching the gazebo just in front of the mansion, I searched for Dutch as I strolled through Lemoyne’s humid, soupy weather, only to find a snake leanin’ against the fence.

At the moment, Micah was currently under the gazebo’s roof as he sharpened his precious knife, givin’ me an unsettling smirk while I walked up the steps.

He put his knife down for a second.

“There he is...” Micah announced, “Dutch’s favorite son. How are you, Arthur?”

I scowled at him impatiently. “Well, I was fine. What you want, Micah?”

He held his hands up defensively. “Just catchin’ up with you, my brother. No need to get angry. See, I got the chance to speak with Eddie while you was...licking your wounds this past week.”

I paused, not interested in the slightest. “...And?”

Micah smiled insincerely, placing a “friendly” hand on my shoulder. “Well, I’m happy for you, Arthur. Outta all the things to find in Saint Denis, I certainly didn’t expect you to find a lover. It’s...surprising, is all. I just never really thought of you as a romantic. ‘Specially when it came to...y’know...boys.”

I aggressively brushed his hand away. “Yeah, well you don’t do much thinkin’ anyway.”

The man gave me a condescending pout. “Why you gettin’ all sour? I ain’t judging you. In fact...I get it. We all need some sort of distraction. I mean, things is tense recently.”

“Which is why we’d all appreciate it if you left.”

Micah snickered mischievously at that, casually wavin’ his knife in my face as he leaned towards me. “Oh, Arthur...I hope you never change.”

A third, guttural voice jumped in, breaking us up before we could argue more.

“Enough! Both of you.”

Joining us in the gazebo, Dutch ascended the short stairs with a rolled up map in his hand as he stepped in between us, starin’ us down like a disappointed father.

He let out a defeated breath. “Can’t you two put aside your differences for just one minute? We have got a bank to rob, and you’re actin’ like a pair of little boys!”

As always, Micah played the role of the ass-kisser.

“I’m sorry, Dutch...” he apologized. “I don’t know what came over me. I just get...I just get so irritated sometimes, but I know it ain’t gonna do us no good. It...it won’t happen again, boss.”

The other man saw through the apology, but accepted it nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

I rested an elbow on the fence, changing the subject. “So, we still hittin’ the bank?”

Dutch spread the map out. “Yes, but not today. Tomorrow. Now, lemme explain the plan. If you’re willin’ to behave, that is.”

He pointed to the Lemoyne National Bank.

“Alright, as you both know, this city is crawlin’ with lawmen. That means if we rob this bank, every policeman in a five-mile radius is gonna be on top of us within seconds. And that’s why we need a distraction.”

I was with the plan so far. “What kinda distraction?”

Dutch brought our focus to a different part of the map, pointing at the trolley station.

“We’ll send some men to start another ‘robbery’ at the trolley station,” he explained. “That should keep the law away from the bank and give us... eight minutes or so to get in, get the money, and get out.”

I blinked in confusion. “Wait -- you wanna rob two places at once?”

Dutch seemed confident. “Why not? The robbery at the station will be more of a distraction than an actual heist, but if we can pull this off, we’ll get double the reward, and twice the amount of money.”

I still wasn’t sure. “And if the plan goes wrong, we’ll get twice the amount of trouble!”

He held up a reassuring hand. “Now, I know this is a risky move...but we need money, Arthur. And we need to get it soon. This city has thousands of dollars just sittin’ in it. We’d be fools to leave it behind!”

I shook my head, starin’ aimlessly at the swamps in the distance. “I dunno, Dutch. Robbin’ a national bank -- that ain’t no easy task. But breakin’ up the gang and startin’ another robbery on the other side of the city? That’s gonna make our chances of success even lower. The risk outweighs the reward here.”

Micah disagreed because of course he did. “Trust Dutch, Arthur. He knows what he’s doing.”

Dutch added onto that. “And besides, like I said, all we’re doin’ is making a bit of noise. If we can confuse the law and have them split up, that’ll make our escape all the easier!”

“And what if they catch someone, Dutch?” I asked. “We won’t even know until we regroup at camp.”

“They won’t,” he reiterated. “Trust me on this, Arthur. This plan will work. We just need to keep our wits about us, and we need to move fast. Just do what I say, and all will be fine. Oh, and another thing -- I want Mister Ryan to come along with us. He knows his way around Saint Denis, and we’re gonna need that knowledge if we’re hopin’ to evade the law.”

I hesitated. “You wanna bring Eddie to the robbery?”

Dutch sensed my caution. “The boy’ll be alright, Arthur. I can promise you that. Just have some faith.”

I fell silent at that, unsure of what else I could say.

It was pretty evident that Dutch was beyond the point of changin’ his mind, and no matter how much I mighta disliked this plan, I knew he was right about the money.

We could take as many jobs as we liked, and run as many errands as we wanted...but the truth o’ the matter was: the gang was runnin’ low on money. We were stuck in the middle of some godforsaken swamp with Pinkertons on our ass, and the only opportunities to grab some cash all lay in that civilized hellhole called Saint Denis.

We would have to rob something, and fast, if we wanted to get outta here. I just didn’t know if stealing from a national bank and baiting the law with our own people was the answer.

There was also the fact that Dutch wanted Eddie to come with us.

I knew the boy could handle himself, and I had no doubts he’d be able to help us...but just the idea of bringin’ him along to a goddamned bank robbery made me uneasy. I mean, I had already forced him into a den full of outlaws and degenerates. The last thing I wanted was for him to become one himself.

But then again, I didn’t really have much of a choice, did I? After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was gonna have to pull his weight if he wanted to stay.

I supposed I’d have to do what Dutch said...and just have some faith.

“...Alright,” I finally agreed, earning a satisfied expression from the older man. “I’m in.”

Dutch nodded in approval. “We will survive, Arthur. And before that sun finishes its cycle, we are gonna be a whole, lot, richer. Now, why don’t you go and inform Eddie of the plan? I want the whole gang to be prepared for this. We ain’t robbin’ theaters and galas no more, after all. Tomorrow...we’re hitting the heart of Saint Denis.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #eddie ryan #arthur morgan x male oc #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story

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avasdoodles · 7 years

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LETS TALK ABOUT THIS PAINTING

Anyways, we all know Michelle well enough to know that she wouldn’t put 20+ Hours into a piece with no symbolism in it (To note, rough estimate for time allotment but given how detailed this painting is I wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer even considering it was a collaboration piece) First off:

The clock. The important parts here would be the young boy, who we can safely tie together with Odin since the painting already strikes a feeling of nobility to the viewer. The boy is looking up to a portrait of a man wearing a crown, who we can assume was a past ruler. This could also be Odin’s own father whose not in the picture of a ruler who predated the boys birth. The boy is looking up the Man, he is grasping the bottom of the portrait while the womanly monarch figure is holding the top end of it. This could show that while the boy is in the line for power, he is still not at the stage where the female monarch is (Since she is holding her hands above the Mans image)

The Family Crest is worn proudly over his chest.You see the same square motif require in a lot of Odin’s art but I feel like that's more design tracing back to the “Stoicness” than anything new for this painting.

More Jewels, pendants, and crown to continue to show the nobility aspect. It's interesting to note that the only Jewelry that Odin had been shown with prior to this update was his Mothers red ring. This may be a reach but that could symbolize that it was his Mother that married into the Arrow bloodline.

It's Winter! Odin’s symbolic season is indeed Winter, yet compared to the last one this is still a happier scene. Similar to the I don’t know if its vastly important is the ferns. Could just be the familys plant? Now, talking about reaches, I don’t know if this was intentional or not but:

Odin and his dam left hip. While the pose in the painting is by no means uncommon, the similar attention to the torso area has been an recurring theme for Odin. probably the only thing holding back the theory that his death was caused by drowning is the mystery hip. #MysteryLowerTorsoGate2017 Back to seriousness-

The Face. I can’t stop thinking about how the painting in this world looks like it's a painting and not another panel of the comic. With the almost porcelain like skin you could just imagine this as an oil painting straight from the Louve. Yet, that's not the important part. Odin age here has to be of an at least 10+-year-old boy. While he is currently 18 in the comic and we all know Wrathia died 15 in the past. If Pedri had died the same time as her and bound himself with Odin, Odin would have only been three at the time. As we can see the pupils are still black that is not the case. Personally, I am a fan of the “Pedri was captured by Titan before he could kill himself” theory. I don’t think Pedri would be one to go against Wrathias wishes as he was deeply in love with her. I think the most likely answer to how Pedri died was sadly tortured/captured by Titan. The painting honesty just opens up more questions. We still don’t know how either Pedri and Odin died. We also don’t know why Olai is so fixated on Odin death. But that's another Meta for the morning.

#This is a mess but I still have so many questions #avas demon #ava's demon #odin arrow #pedri nanezgani

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sailoryue · 7 years

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La Fashionista Pt 3 (currently 2)

Adrien stayed with Marinette all night on her balcony. They talked about different things, not just about their identities. Adrien wanted to keep Marinette from being upset, because the akuma could return. As it was, she was still very shaken from the event.

He still couldn’t quite believe that of all thep eople in Paris his lovely lady could be, but his wonderful classmate and friend Marinette! And watching her interact with Plagg definitely showed she was the right choice.

The Kwami was not happy that Adrien did not have any more camembert on hand, and there wasn’t any in the bakery. But some how Marinette had convinced the glutton to eat some other cheeses they had instead.

As the sun rose, it became apparent of the damage wrought upon Paris. They could hear the tv from downstairs. The news reporter Nadia was asking the operable question: Where was Ladybug? Marinette covered her face.

“I feel so awful!” So many citizens frozen as mannequins, and it was all her fault!

“Marinette, it wasn’t your fault!” Adrien gripped her shoulder, turning her to face him. “We will fix this. I promise to get your miraculous back and then you can use your Lucky Charm!”

Marinette looked up at Adrien’s cheerful face. He was so certain of things. It was strange. In his face she saw her crush, Adrien Agreste. And under normal circumstances she would be so start struck she couldn’t speak. But also in that face she saw her partner’s confidence and cockiness. Now that his secret was out, it seemed almost impossible to separate the two. Looking away, she sighed.

“I believe you, but I’m just real worried about Tikki.” she brushed away a tear.

Adrien nodded understanding. Marinette had told him a little about her kwami last night, about how she looked a bit like a ladybug, and loved eating sweets as her recovery food.

“We will rescue her.” He said gently, squeezing her shoulders. “I know I’d be upset if anything happened to Plagg; as annoying as he can be with his expensive appetite. I’d do anything to get his lazy furry butt back.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” Said lazy furry butt stretched and levitated from where he had crashed last night. Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

“Good morning, Plagg.” She said, reaching out to scratch his chin.

“Morning. So anything new happen while i was asleep?”

Adrien shook his head.

“No we were about to start planning on how to get Marinette’s miraculous back. I still cant believe father is Hawkmoth!” He crossed his arms.

Atleast this explains some of his father’s absences. Not all of them, but a good handful for certain.

“I’d like to know what he wants with our miraculous,” Marinette said thoughtfully voicing her concern.

Adrien held his hand against his chin. That was the question, wasn’t it? His green eyes settled n his ring and an idea began to formulate.

“Why don’t I just ask him?”

Marinette and Plagg looked at him. Plagg’s face was blank as usual, but Marinette’s showed confusion. Adrien continued his thought.

“I’ll go to him and ask him about the miraculous, and confront him myself.”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows pensively.

“Is that a good idea? What if he tries to take your miraculous too?”

Adrien put a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a big smile.

“That’s where you come in.”

Marinette pointed at herself. “Me?”

He nodded. “Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, she nodded and said, “Yes, abosoluely!”

His grin grew. “Great. How are you at jewelry making?”

—–

Adrien headed to his house after finalizing the plan. It was just as well he head home, as for the past two or three hours his phone had been blown up by Nathalie trying to reach him. Once he entered his home, he headed straight towards his father’s study, pausing at the portrait of himself and his father, the one that hid the entrance of Hawkmoth’s lair. It did well to hide the door; the portrait sat flush against the wall. He walked into the study, noting his father sitting at his desk.

“Ah Adrien, there you are! Where have you been?”

His father only looked up once to glance at him before looking back at the paperwork on his desk. Adrien stayed near the door.

“I stayed over at a friend’s house.” He answered.

Gabriel glanced up at his son.

“If you had planned to stay at the Bourgeois’, a phone call would have been suffice”

Adrien glanced out the window. “Actually, I wasn’t at Chloe’s. I was at Marinette’s”

“Ah, Miss Cheng.” His father stood up, arms crossed behind his back. “How is she? I noticed she had not shown up for work this morning.”

Adrien wasn’t happy at the game his father was playing, pretending to not know what happened to her. But he played along

“She was targeted by Hawkmoth yesterday. I wanted to stay with her in case her akuma returned”

“Well, Im sure Paris’s great heroes could have protected her just fine.” His father’s voice held a contemptuous boredom. “Isn’t that their job?”

This was definitely a game of cat and mouse. Unfortunately for his father, HE was the cat in this, and he was going to win.

“Perhaps they were busy or unable to. I just wasn’t going to leave Marinette alone.”

“Very well. I will let Miss Cheng off for today. I do hope she is well enough to return to work tomorrow.” Adrien watched as his father went over to the portrait of his mother on the far wall. “She definitely shows great potential, in more ways than one.”

Adrien caught something in the tone of his voice. He wondered if it meant more than just hiring Marinette full time on a fashion based job. Was he also talking about her akuma? That was a rough fight, his lady made for a powerful fighter, either akuma or miracular. He was still quite sore from their fight.

“At the very least Adrien, you could have called Nathalie or myself, to tell someone where you were. Why not invite her here where she could be better protected?”

Adrien was getting tired of this game. Obviously his father had more vested interest in using his friend than anything else. Crossing his arms, he decided to end it. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

“Perhaps if this wasn’t where she was akumatized, father, I would.”

Gabriel turned to look at his son.

“Marinette told me everything! I know you are Hawkmoth!” Adrien shouted, not caring if anyone in the house heard him.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would drop these pretenses Adrien. I myself have known you are Chat Noir for quite some time.

“Why are you doing this, father? Why do you want our miraculous?”

“You have NO idea the power your miraculous has!” His father shouted back. “It certainly does not belong in the hands of a couple of children! Adrien, your miraculous has powers no others have.”

His voice leveled, calmed, as he slowly approached Adrien, yet still keeping his distance.

“The power to create and the power to destroy. Separate those powers are immense. But together they have an unimaginable ability: The power to grant any wish, no matter what. Adrien, with your miraculous we can bring back your mother!”

Adrien was taken aback by what his father just said. Bring back his mother? Did the miraculous really have that [power? He looked at his ring. Did Plagg know of this?

“They can really do that?” He asked, looking back at his father.

“Yes. I’ve been researching them for years. Planning for this. Together we an bring her back.” He held his hand out towards Adrien. “Work with me, Adrien.”

Adrien looked back at his ring for a full minute. He felt a shift in his shirt of Plagg squirming. Heart pounding, he slowly reached for his ring.

“Sorry Plagg” He whispered as he pulled it off.

Once it was fully off his finger he felt a sudden emptiness. He no longer felt the presence of Plagg and a certain loss of cockiness, as if the personality aspect of Chat Noir was completely gone. He looked at the ring in his hand for one more moment before clenching his hand. He approached his father, who had a victorious grin on his face. He hesitated as he stood in front of his father.

“Promise me something first father.” Adrien said, holding the ring between his fingers. “Call off Marinette’s akuma and restore the people of Paris.”

Gabriel seemed to roll his eyes.

“Very well, I will see about restoring her akuma.”

He held out his hand, and Adrien dropped the ring in it. His father closed his fingers around it, holding his now clenched fist up in victory.

Without warning, he was knocked off his feet by a punch his son gave him. Looking up from his now sitting position on the floor, he saw thel ook on his face. He rubbed at his throbbing jaw, somewhat admiring the strength behind the hit.

Adrien looked down at his father, fist still clenched. And tho his heart pounded, racing from the adrenalineo f what he just did; he was surprisingly calm.

“Adrien, what are you doing?” His father shouted.

“What am I doing? What are YOU doing!?” Adrien shouted back. He pointed to the window. “All of this, terrorizing Paris. Attacking people for this goal? Its not worth it!”

Adrien blinked back tears. He took a deep breath.

“Mother’s been gone for over a year. I still miss her, but putting people in danger just for her? Its not worth it! And she definitely wouldn't want this! I was given the Chat Noir miraculous for a reason. And that was to PROTECT Paris.

Gabriel smirked. “And fine job you’ve done, considering you already handed your miraculous over to me.”

He held up the ring. Adrien held up an identical one, which he put on his finger. the grin fell from his father’s face as his kwami reappeared.

“Marinette is really good at jewelry making, isn’t she? Plagg, Claws Out!” He transformed into Chat Noir. He looked over at the portrait of his mother, figuring that Marinette’s earrings would be in the safe hidden behind it. He approached it, hesitating before moving it aside.

“Sorry mother.” he whispered, as he reached to pull it open.

“Nooroo, transfor– oof” Gabriel’s vioce cut off by Chat Noir’s staff suddenly hitting him in the chest, knocking him off balance.

“I should probably take that too. It’s time Hawkmoth retired” And Chat Noir moved his father’s scarf aside revealing a butterfly shaped brooch. “This must be your miraculous.”

Gabriel did not struggle, he just glared disapprovingly at him. Right before the butterfly pin came off, Chat Noir caught a glimpse of a small purple face peeking from the inner jacket pocket. It must be the kwami. Right as the pin came off, it nodded, closing its eyes. It almost looked grateful.

Chat stood up, and momentarily looked at his father sadly. His father glared back up at him, visibly grinding his teeth. Chat went back to the safe and called out a cataclysm, destroying the safe door.

“Don’t worry, once Ladybug uses her lucky charm, that will get fixed.” He grabbed the pair of black earrings off the top shelf and placed both miraculouses in his pockets. Before turning to leave, he also noted a cane leaning against the wall on the inside. In the top part was a glass ball that held a black butterfly. That must be Marinette’s akuma. He grabbed it as well and turned to leave. At this point he could no longer meet his father’s eyes. Before going out the window, he did have one last thing to say.

“I’m sorry it came to this, father. But know this: I wont tell anyone you were Hawkmoth. I don’t want to lose my father as well.” And took off, leaving Gabriel Agreste to himself.

Gabriel watched as his son pole vaulted across Paris, most likely to Miss Cheng’s home. He turned back to the safe, specifically to the photo on the shelf. He stood and walked over to look at it closely, decidedly ignoring the pile of ash in front of the safe. The photo was of his wife and son. He had some thinking to do, and some time to do it.

—–

[I do have one last part to do, i just realized that i hadn’t have that part written yet lol. but heres this part. next week i might have the rest. i hope everyone enjoys it i had loads of fun writing it]

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ladynoir #adrinette #ladrien #fic #fashionista

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jackaccletonfutureworks · 7 years

Text

DD2000 - Research blog for a path into industry

Portfolios and their importance

Now before we even get to the building up to our chosen job and how we get there we have to talk about arguably the first and most important step when going into any industry, a good portfolio.

A portfolio in definition is according to many sources such as google, the oxford dictionaries and the free dictionary

a set of pieces of creative work intended to demonstrate a person's ability to a potential employer.

Example: "she had a portfolio of crayon portraits"

now reading the definition you should get an idea as to why a portfolio is quite the important tool in any industry but allow me to elaborate, a portfolio usually contains all of your best and well presented work that you wish to show off to a future employer in the hopes that it will impress them enough to consider you for the role available and hire you into it.

Even if that doesnt happen they are important tools for ensuring people dont soon forget you, if its good enough your employer might talk to his co-workers about it and the work that was in it, might recommend you to other companies and give you an easy-ish way into the industry, not only that but if its up online somewhere it can allow none industry people to view it and get invested in the work you do, get invested in your ideas and anything to do with them and begin to support you and want more of your work which is hard to ignore from people in the industry.

But an important part of a portfolio is to make sure it fits the job role, its nice that its all neatly presented and stunning work but if your going for a modelling job and bring in cool doodles of swords instead they will more than likely enjoy them but dont cross your fingers for the job or even being well remembered in a good way.

Now lets take that Modeling job as an example, if your looking into that job there are some things that would work well in your Porfolio

What to include generally

Some well constructed and unique models to show your skill, talent and creativity. Make sure to have beauty shots (Three angles) a Uv render (Shows off the uv maps of the models showing you do know how to Map and texture) and a wireframe

some more bland models that everyone has but it shows you can model things of this type, guns, corridors things like that

all of the work should be finished and if not it should be a w.i.p showing of how the model developed or something you are working on recently and wish to say “this is my latest project”

Portfolio : About myself

Every portfolio for every job must be different and suited for the job role your looking to invest into. Now my portfolio will have me looking into narrative design so there are some things i do need to include when constructing mine and things i need to look out for

What i should include

Well written stories of varying length and style as well as on different matters and subjects to give a quick look at the range i can write at and my ability with different styles and topics

Character development if possible, Original character, fan characters and things like that, let people in the industry see the work and love put into them and how you created them from the ground up, even include the most trivial detail if needed it will show how i think about even the smallest things for characters and bring them to life

Same applies for world building, show worlds you crated and the living breathing atmosphere they have, show off head canons and theories about already made worlds if you wish

Show dialogue and scripts made, this includes roleplaying and back and forth between characters of your own and friends

Work done that is not narrative directly but does still link to it

Any writing done for games, this includes small projects and twine games

Now what have i done to go towards this portfolio as of writing this?

I have written many short stories and poems some better than others i cannot lie however i tend to struggle sometimes with motivation in writing longer tales if they are not split into parts either via working time or as part 1, part 2 etc, 3 twine games which could be improved but stand at a decent enough quality and i do intend to create more, have an entire blog built for role playing (character creation and building, dialogue, world building) this is where i let alot of my ideas roam free as well as some of my more out there character traits, this character has spawned off into his own story and world view from a character that had nothing to start with, he has spawned countless side characters and alternate realities surrounding him and all of them have their own stories and worlds not to mention many pieces of college work.

All of these very important in the portfolio especially for the job role im looking to enter.

General Examples of both good and bad portfolio's

Networking

Networking is in short terms the connections you make with people be them big or small, it forms a web coming from you of connections you made. If you meet David and David knows Susan but you dont know Susan, she is still now in your web of networking due to knowing David.

Networking is important to the industry at it is a key way to get into the industry and get yourself known to people, without the links to people it would be almost impossible to get a way into the industry without directly going up to someone and asking for a job or applying yourself.

Networking can also offer unexpected help from people inside the industry through simply talking to them.

But how can networking help my career path into a narrative games career?

More importantly what kinds of networking could help my cause?

Well the obvious one to start off in narrative would be social media, its a great place to store and write small stories or tales and build character/worlds. It is also perfect for getting your small tales out to a large audience of people very quickly.

Take tumblr for example, its blogging allows for quick short stories or grand giant multi-post tales to be re-blogged , twitter is also a good example here as many industry insiders use twitter and could be a great way to share your narrative ideas and work with them to get feedback and make yourself known to them

It is also a prime location to show off portfolio w.i.p work and gain interest in what else is inside your portfolio both from regular people and industry insiders which could lead to job offers or simply having you in mind when a place does come up

Another prime example would be Game conventions, they allow for examination of upcoming games as well as series of games with over arching stories as well as the idea of communication with industry insiders as well as games media about games and your general idea. It could also provide you with skills and much needed tips if your willing to buy some people a beer. Game designers are just people like you and me so most of them have no issue sitting down to talking.

There are a few that take place here in the UK :

EGX - EGX is a British made Gaming Convention sponsored by Virgin media and s currently set to take place in the Birmingham NEC arena on the 21st -24th of September

Play Expo - Play Expo is a British games convention set in Manchester England at event city.

There is one that comes to mind and does take place in the US

Ludem Dare - Ludem Dare is a game jam hosted this year in San Francisco that gives people a theme and 24/48 hours to create a game, this allows people in the industry to see how people work under a tight deadline and the quality of games they can create with minimal information. It also allows for the people involved to brush up on their skills or develop new ones.

Well i say one but you cant talk US and game gatherings without mentioning

E3 - E3 is a yearly multi company convention in which the biggest games are shown and revealed and many of the gaming industries top professionals visit to give their games that needed star power, a place like this is perfect to ask questions, build connections and show off work you had done in hopes of making an impression

One important thing to know about networking overall however is that you should never be afraid to talk to someone or ask questions to them, they are not some untouchable idol who will simply scoff at you, they are infact just as human as you are and i imagine they they have trouble talking to a person from time to time. Plus there is only things to gain instead of things to lose

The Ideal Work Place/Key Companies In My Field

When it comes to an ideal work place that generally comes down to preference, some might want to work for Bethesda, maybe you want to work for EA but this is in general terms which company would be the best suited for the field i would like to enter

The first company that instantly jumps put for narrative focused games would be tell tale who have generally been known to create heavily emotional narrative focused point and click/episodic games based on existing IP’s such as The walking dead, borderlands and game of thrones

https://telltale.com/ - 4000 Civic Center Dr, San Rafael, CA 94903, USA

https://telltale.com/jobs/

As of this moment in time they are only looking for a senior writer in the job field i wish however that doesnt mean i cant apply for another job they are in need of to work my way into a writing position for example they are always looking for q/a testers so using that i can wiggle into a narrative design or writer role by suggesting things that could improve the story experience or helping with the writing of scripts and dialogue.

An issue with telltale however is it is hard to single out a game from their library as more narrative focused or important than any other, walking dead offers a dark saddening take on the world where every option and choice you make will have an impact later. This is in stark contrast to say tales from the borderlands which yes does have a similar choices matter mentality however the story in that game is less serious and grim and more light hearted and lovely.

With tell-tale they cover so much ground in their narrative focused games its hard to single one of them out alone

Not a company that comes to mind when thinking of narrative but one that i would enjoy a job at would be gearbox, they are mainly known for creating the borderlands franchise and as of now are in the process of making the third game . Their narratives tend to be somewhat serious but have a lighthearted tone to them with alot of dirty humor.

Borderlands and its sequels probably are the most notable games they have created and do narrative in an inventive way in that it is both serious yet not at all serious at the same time i mean....the planet your on is in grave danger from a tyrant hell bent on wiping life as you know it off the planet with an alien doom weapon, but at the same time the villian mocks you with such childish insults and sarcastic nonsense its hard to take it seriously, even more so with some of the side missions like “shot this guy in the faace” which is exactly as it sounds.

http://www.gearboxsoftware.com/ - 5757 Main St, Frisco, TX 75034, USA

http://www.gearboxsoftware.com/careers/

Gearbox software have an odd internship program that allows people of all skill levels to join and it is called the cogs program, in their own words the cogs program is

“The COGS program at Gearbox Software is designed for future game developers to get a chance to start their careers by becoming embedded with the veteran, professional developers at our world-class video game development studio and actually contribute to a commercial video game project. It’s the real deal. This is the foot in the door. This is the chance to prove yourself.

The COGS program differs from a traditional internship because Gearbox Software will actually pay you during your time at the studio. What?! Did you read that right?! Yes, we’re going to pay you to prove yourself. We must be nuts.But forget about us being nuts for a minute – the COGS program is as real as Clap Trap’s malfunctioning artificial personality.

COGS stands for Contractors of Gearbox Software – you will get a contract and it will say that you have become an actual, official, paid professional inside the studio that is home of Borderlands, Duke Nukem, Brothers in Arms, Homeworld, Battleborn, and Randy Pitchford’s flamboyant shirts. The contract terms can be for as little as three months or as long as a year, depending on the timing and the role. During that time you’ll get free soda. Also during that time you’ll contribute to a real commercial product at our AAA development studio earning valuable experience and credit that will not merely be rewarding and insanely gratifying, but will also set-you-up to be very valuable and sought after by the industry. And there’s free snacks to wash down with the soda. Did I already mention the soda? It’s a cool deal.”

quote directly from here

This is all to simply prove if you deserve a job or not

Key people in my field

http://www.evanskolnick.com/games

His portfolio is rather well put together and lists all of his skills and accomplishments as well as any and all of the projects he has worked on it also seems to show his wide range of work as he has taken part in narrative roles on project such as mafia 3 which is full of gore and racial angles and tension to the kid friendly hi-jinks filled over the hedge game and movie.

This is a portfolio i should keep an eye on and learn from

https://twitter.com/evanskolnick?lang=en

Evan Skolnick is an american born writer who has previous worked on marvel comics as a lead writer and now has jumped into narrative video game design, his most recent project/job being the walking dead : a new frontier by telltale which makes him a key player not only in my field but a company based solely around the field i wish to work in

has a book out called : video game story telling, what every developer needs to know about narrative techniques

the description of the book and what it may offer

“With increasingly sophisticated video games being consumed by an enthusiastic and expanding audience, the pressure is on game developers like never before to deliver exciting stories and engaging characters. With Video Game Storytelling, game writer and producer Evan Skolnick provides a comprehensive yet easy-to-follow guide to storytelling basics and how they can be applied at every stage of the development process—by all members of the team. This clear, concise reference pairs relevant examples from top games and other media with a breakdown of the key roles in game development, showing how a team’s shared understanding and application of core storytelling principles can deepen the player experience. Understanding story and why it matters is no longer just for writers or narrative designers. From team leadership to game design and beyond, Skolnick reveals how each member of the development team can do his or her part to help produce gripping, truly memorable narratives that will enhance gameplay and bring today’s savvy gamers back time and time again.“

Edwin McRae isnt noteworthy due to the work he has done, though he has worked on many smaller titles and mobile games as a narrative designer and world builder. He is more notable due to his constant advice and tutorials on how to become a better narrative designer and how to build a living breathing world from scratch

He too like Evan has a book or two to be purchased and read which can be found here : https://www.edmcrae.com/books-and-comics.cfm

Another good narrative designer to take a look at would be Daniel Dick, he describes himself as follows

“ I'm a Narrative Director & Writer with over 15 years of industry experience creating, building, and implementing successful narratives (including multiple AAA titles). I also recently designed a narrative design and game writing course for the University of British Columbia's Creative Writing Program.”

Some notable projects he has worked on include

★ DEUS EX: MANKIND DIVIDED Narrative Director Eidos Montreal ★ HOMEWORLD: DESERTS OF KHARAK Narrative Director BBI / Gearbox ★ SPEC-OPS Lead Narrative Designer & Writer Rockstar Vancouver ★ BULLY Narrative Designer & Writer Rockstar Vancouver ★ SOCOM: TACTICAL STRIKE Lead Writer & Narrative Designer Slant Six / Sony ★ SOCOM: FIRETEAM BRAVO 3 Lead Writer & Narrative Designer Slant Six / Sony ★ NEED FOR SPEED & SSX Story Consultant & Contract Writer Electronic Arts ★ TREASURE PLANET Game Designer & Writer Barking Dog / Disney ★ THE DAMASCUS LETTER: A Spy Novel Author Finalist for the AMAZON BREAKTHROUGH NOVEL AWARD in 2011.

His portfolio on Linkden is also very well put together and will have to keep an eye on this one as well

https://www.linkedin.com/in/danieldick/

The skills i need

When it comes to narrative design in general there are certain skills you will need when entering the field.

Atleast basic knowledge on pacing and tone to a story, you cant have characters fighting an epic war then suddenly 2 seconds later have a clown filled tea party only to mourn their friends for a solid hour or two after that, it kills both the tone your going for and pacing. Keep it balanced and consistent

Understand character and world building, it good to create a world or character but if they are blank slates of boring with a side of boring pie then no one will care.

To create a breathing living world you must think about every detail and bit of history, what does this town do for the world, why is this ruin here, where do these enemies live etc. However be careful as you cannot make a game with backstory and word building alone and people do not want to have to sit through hours of lore.

Characters are harder to build, they can have preset fears and goals and motivations and even backstories however alot of the time they need to grow alongside the player and inside the events of your narrative. If a character loses something precious to them show it, if they are tried from a long battle show it, if they have been beaten badly and took a massive hit to their pride again show it to the player and in the character.

Script/dialogue writing skills and understanding what goes into creating them. Make sure every bit of dialogue fits who it is meant for perfectly and try to avoid repetition if possible. Ensure scripts are clear to read for the voice actors

Ability to take critique and improve from it, maybe someone thinks a certain aspect of your narrative is a bit off and wants to give feedback, it would be your job to take that feedback in and maybe change the narrative a bit to fit it.

Interpersonal skills, do you really think your going to be working alone....yeah no it doesnt work like that as you will be with a team of writers more than likely who will be throwing in ideas into this world or character and trying to make them perfect. Listen to what they have to say and work with them. Plus you will be working with other departments, maybe the environment designer needs specific dialogue for a fire area and you need to take a look at the area to gauge what kind of dialogue to fit into it, Maybe the character designer needs help figuring out how this character might speak and what they could even say

You have to have the ability to understand the genre of what it is your writing, cant have a kid friendly platformer suddenly have sexual jokes and decapitations now can we?

Organization in your writing is a good skill to possess as well as good motivation skills and time management

My work and evaluating it/General Evaluation

Now that i have mentioned the skills needed and the work i have done it is time to evaluate it bit by bit and see if i meet the standards set above and if not how can i achieve them from where i am now

My work

Short stories and poems tend to come to me in the moment and usually come from my already made characters, existing characters from movies/tv/games or from some random idea i had in my mind. However as mention before they tend to be a one time thing and rarely branch out and become longer, any longer story usually gets forgotten about due to motivational or memory issues even if broken into parts (For example i got 5 parts into a dark souls 3 story before forgetting it and never really going back to continue it). If i wish to get into narrative i need to work on long stories

The few twine games i have made so far are at a time where i have minimal knowledge of twine and one of them i cannot add to my porfolio due to content inside it. They are not nearly to the standard they could or should be and i should spend time completing and working on them to put them at the level i believe they could be.

The blog is personally my proudest bit of writing, i started the blog with a charcter based on an ingame mario enemy that had no backstory or anything, no personifcation or even personality. I took this enemy and gave it life and a soul, gave it wants and needs and fears and a personality, it has goals and a past now and as said has spawned countless Alternate worlds and ideas from it due to the story i have told with him. However alot of the writing tends to be very informal and dailouge based and the blog also has some informal and silly content to go through, will need to isolate the writing from this blog to show on the portfolio

As said he has spawned countless characters off of himself, from a sweet gentle shy king, to an evil dominating tyrant, a lonely yet wise last of his kind hunter, a sickening horrific yet lovable spider hybrid creature, a shy 1 limbed mechanic looking into necromancy to power his robotics to be honest this is stuff to include in the portfolio however it mention it here as no matter how many characters i do have i should continue to add more to the mix and develop them every chance i get to do so.

Skills and myself overall

In terms of skills i would like to atleast believe i own some of the needed skills for my job role, a basic understanding of pacing and tone, world and character building experience as well as interpersonal skills and abilities. Perhaps i do struggle a small amount with critique as sometimes it dont learn or go back to redo what is told of me.

Out side of skills to myself in general im a generally approachable and creative guy who could keep tensions low and ensure that everyone in the company is keeping themselves happy and destressed, i would also like to believe im willing to advance and learn even if it is painful.

But to evaluate you have to speak of the bad too, which is sometimes i can be very unmotivated and avoid/put off work for as long as possible even if i understand and know i have work. I can also get frustrated easilly with things that i cannot do or do not understand, if i wish to advance in my industry i willl need to put these under lock and key

My path into industry due to what i have found here

Due to the information i have found here there are a few paths into industry i can take

i can look for a indie or triple A developer looking for a q/a tester and work into the company from there offering the skills i do have to help construct the game and help any struggling member of the team during my none working hours, this iwll show them my previously obtained skills and allow them to remember me above all the other Q/A testers thus getting a foot in the door

I could also use my Voice acting talent and get in through that, voice a character and offer changes and help to the script as well as developing the character which again gives me a foot into the door.

another option is to wiggle into games journalism, this way i can write about and meet many developers as well as play some of the hottest games before anyone else and offer my opinion on them and what could be changed.

#FWDD2000

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